Heather excused herself and hurried upstairs to grab her last bag, a cosmetic case, which she slipped over her shoulder. She glanced around the room once more. Spying the Bible where she’d found Lettie’s bird sightings, she felt an overwhelming sadness for Grace. So many unanswered questions – why had her mother run off, where had she gone, and when might she return home?
Outside again, she found Grace already sitting primly in the front passenger’s seat, staring blankly through the windshield. Susan walked over and leaned on the open car window, talking softly. Soon, the three of them were saying another round of good-byes and God-bless-you’s – Susan and Grace offering the latter.
Then they were on their way, winding back up the same narrow country road they’d come by, the cows grazing on all sides as Heather and Grace headed toward Sugarcreek.
“Susan was really something,” Heather remarked.
“Like family... almost.”
When they drove past the area where Heather had encountered the friendly woman with the charming name of Minnie, she glanced in the rearview mirror, recalling how relaxed she’d felt during the walk.
Grace turned to her. “I’m sorry this was such a dead end... that you drove me out here for nothing.”
“Oh, don’t worry about me, Grace.”
“We just missed my mother.” Grace wiped tears from her eyes and went silent, hardly breathing in the passenger’s seat. She sat nearly like a rag doll, no life in her arms, with her legs stretched out and feet resting on the gravel-sprinkled floor mat below.
A fleeting thought crossed Heather’s mind that if she hadn’t signed up for the Wellness Lodge, she might have offered to play sleuth there in Baltic or elsewhere. But the clock was loudly ticking on her health.
nine
S everal other patients were sitting in Dr. Hackman’s waiting room when Lettie arrived, some with children who eyed her curiously as she signed in and took a seat. Others sat and flipped through magazine pages, glancing up hopefully each time the nurse opened the door to call another name. Accustomed to being given sideways glances by Englischers during her travels or while tending tables at market, she wasn’t troubled by the stares. Some folks were just more discreet than others.
At last, when Lettie’s name was called, she followed the nurse through the doorway, rehearsing in her mind the questions for the doctor. Would this visit bring an end to her search, just as she’d prayed while waiting for the driver to arrive this morning?
Lettie felt nearly too reticent to speak when the doctor, a large man with gray-blue eyes, entered the room and leaned down to shake her hand. Feeling fuzzy-headed, she wished she’d written down her questions.
“My receptionist left a note for me. Am I correct that you’re looking for an adoptee, a child you had years ago?” Dr. Hackman asked as they sat across from each other at his large desk.
Lettie confirmed that was the reason she’d come from Lancaster County to meet with him. “The adoption took place in Ohio,” she added.
“Do you have access to a computer?” he said, frowning. “If so, you can easily print out the form and mail in a request to authorize the release of your identifying information.”
“Sorry... a what?”
“There’s a standard form for biological parents who are searching.”
She shook her head. “I don’t own a computer.” And wouldn’t know how to use it if I did.
His face softened to a cordial smile. “Well, then, you could simply write a letter and request a reply by mail, if you wish.”
Lest she lose her nerve, Lettie asked if he remembered working with a midwife in Kidron, Ohio, named Minnie Keim. “She delivered my baby twenty-four years ago – April twenty-ninth.”
He shifted his wide shoulders and glanced briefly toward the window, a contemplative frown on his portly face. “I do recall Mrs. Keim, yes. But it has been some years since I’ve worked with her in that capacity.”
“My baby’s adoption was handled privately – not through an agency. Or so I was told.”
He shook his head, still looking rather amazed. “It was totally unnecessary for you to travel here.”
Sighing, she thought of Hallie’s neighbor Lana. But it had been hard enough to ask to use her phone, let alone asking to borrow Lana’s little computer – and not knowing what to do first after that. “Would it be possible to have someone here help me... in your office?” Lettie did not want to risk making a single mistake in filling out such an important form. Just the thought of it made her feel nearly panicked.
He opened his mouth to speak, then hesitated, a brief smile playing on his lips. “Let’s see what we can do.” He rose and reached for the door. Quietly, he called for one of his staff from the doorway. “Could one of you come and assist Mrs. Byler, please?”
She was greatly relieved at the doctor’s kindness and told him so. He nodded warmly and said he wished her well in her search. “The state department of health will file your request with the court and respond to you via mail at your home address. Assuming your child has filed a petition with the probate court, your information will be released to her.”
Momentarily, Lettie wondered if having such a letter come to her home was a good idea. But, no, she would follow through, just as the good doctor was suggesting.
Before he left, she said, “I have one more question. Do you keep any records of private adoptions?”
He wore a fleeting look of regret. “Our files don’t go back that far. You’ll have to work directly with the office of vital statistics at the Ohio Department of Health. You can expect to hear back from them within two to three weeks.”
She thanked him, and he was gone.
Soon, one of the nurses appeared in the room and went to sit in the doctor’s chair, in front of the desk computer. She introduced herself as Fiona, and her accent and name made Lettie think she was from another country. Fiona printed out a form she found online with the Ohio Adoption Registry. Then she carefully went over the information, beginning with Lettie’s legal name at the time of the birth, and the date and location of the birth. Lettie felt like a bundle of nerves, and a great shyness fell over her, like a large cobweb descending. But she did her utmost to print neatly, and to the best of her knowledge, she carefully answered each question, filling in every blank, except for the name of the baby on the day of birth.
“Ah, there you are, Martin,” his wife said as Martin Puckett pushed open the screen door. “Hungry?”
“You know me well.” He chuckled and glanced at his watch. Twelve-thirty – later than he preferred to sit down to lunch, but there had been many calls from Amish requesting his transportation services this morning.
Janet moved back and forth between the kitchen counter and the table in a sporadic dance of sorts. He leaned back in his chair, appreciative of her attempts to make every meal festive. Festive was her own description of the colorful napkins and ever-changing place settings. At last count, she owned five full sets of dishes. “My weakness,” she’d admitted to him last week as they enjoyed a light supper, complete with her maternal grandmother’s best china – a pattern of small flowers – and crystal goblets. The goblets were making an appearance again today, although presently his was filled with ice water, a small slice of lemon floating down midway.
Janet was feminine in every way – the way she dressed, the way she carried herself, and her demeanor. And, good night, could she ever cook! To think this was the same woman who’d worked for years behind a cosmetic counter in one of the department stores over in the big Lancaster mall, on the other side of the bypass. She’d given makeovers to middle-aged women, recommended lipstick hues, and passed out free samples until she resigned after their third child was born. While she said she did not miss working full-time, Martin was fairly certain she missed the spending money. Particularly now, with things so tight. The exceptionally high cost of gas this spring had certainly done their bank account no favors.
“Here we are.” Janet carried
the last two food items and placed them just so in the center of the table, including a molded tuna salad with chopped hard-boiled eggs he could see through the gelatin. “No mayo for you, dear, but I think you’ll like the healthy substitute.”
Don’t remind me....
“Looks delicious.” He smiled at his bride of nearly forty-one years. They had certainly been through the mill with two of their now-grown children. One daughter had surprised them recently by finally beginning to mellow. Even the younger daughter was showing steady indications of the same. Their sons, married with children of their own, had given them no trouble at all – at least that Martin could recall. Aside from his own forced early retirement due to stress-related health issues, he and Janet knew they had enjoyed more than their share of blessings.
Bowing his head, he offered a heartfelt prayer, being mindful to ask a blessing on “the hands that prepared this food” toward the end. After the amen, he leaned over and kissed Janet’s soft, pink lips. “Let’s dig in,” he said.
His wife reached to scoop up an ample portion of the kidney bean salad, waiting for him to hold out his plate. Next the molded tuna salad – which he was not so fond of, though he would never let on – and a thick slice of hobo bread, one of Janet’s own favorites.
Grateful, he looked down at his plate and picked up his fork, all the while attentive to his wife’s pleasant chatter.
“How’s the Virginia businessman’s house coming along?” Janet asked after she’d filled him in on the latest with their kids.
“The permit has been approved and the plot’s been surveyed. Excavation will begin after Memorial Day – next Tuesday, I’d guess.” He broke his bread in half and took a bite. There wasn’t a lick of butter anywhere in sight, thanks to Janet’s heeding his doctor’s orders. “Recommendations,” she liked to say instead.
“So the house should go up quickly?”
“Yes. And according to the fellows I’ll be driving to and from the site each day, there’s an air of excitement about this particular house.”
Her eyebrows rose. “Really?”
“Well, it’s planned as a look-alike Amish farmhouse... except with every imaginable modern convenience,” he said. “How about that?”
“Sounds like the owner is trying to fit in over there.”
“That’s my thinking, as well. But since I’ve yet to meet Roan Nelson, I can’t tell you why that would be.”
Janet reached for her own goblet of water. “Some of the girls in the neighborhood said they heard Mr. Nelson has a daughter about to get her master’s degree. She’s staying with the Riehls.”
“Heard that, too.” He shook his head and wiped his mouth with the napkin. “Andy and Marian certainly have their hands full with all they do.”
“Running a tourist home would keep me hopping, let alone handling all the work of a dairy farm on top of it.”
They traded smiles. Martin had had his share of working with cows, back when he was a boy. His father’s older brother had a few he raised to slaughter. Martin shook off the memory of one particular day when he’d observed the process a little too closely for his liking. He’d almost given up eating meat after that, but only until the disgusting memory faded. And now here he was, happily married to a woman who excelled in the kitchen, cooking occasional beef dinners, along with other leaner meats, and he was the contented recipient.
“I’m curious to know why anyone from Virginia wants to build a modern-day house, sandwiched between two Amish farms,” Janet said. “Any idea?”
“Roan Nelson’s his own man, I’m hearing. And somewhat dogmatic about how he wants things done – the old way, he’s insisted to the Amish contractor who’s overseeing the whole thing – Josiah Smucker.”
“Sally’s husband? The preacher?” Janet’s eyes lit up. “Are you sure?”
“You know her?”
“I’ve met her at the farmer’s market several times. The first time we were both at a table of homemade facial scrubs.”
He let out a guffaw. “Hard to imagine an Amishwoman wanting something like that.”
“Well, now, darling” – and here she touched his wrist – “a woman’s a woman, no matter the Plain clothes she wears.”
He smiled. “Should’ve seen that coming.” Martin finished eating his helping of tuna salad, trying for the life of him to remember how it had tasted with mayo.
ten
L ettie kept coming up short Friday, trying to line up a long-distance driver for that afternoon – or even tomorrow. Feeling overwhelmingly homesick, she couldn’t contact Sally Smucker, either. She hoped she might stay with the preacher’s family once she returned, at least for the time being. Out of respect for Judah.
After what she’d done, it was not right for her to simply appear at the house and expect her husband to welcome her back. If she could only stay with the Smuckers, who had several empty bedrooms, she might be able to work things out with Preacher Josiah first, before revealing her past sins to Judah. And hopefully avoid a public kneeling confession.
With her husband on her mind, Lettie hurried to her room to jot down a few notes, things she must include in her revelatory confession to him and to the ministers.
A telling of sorts.
Quickly she found her pen and the writing paper in her suitcase. She sat at a small desk and began to write the thoughts that had flooded her heart just since her consultation with Dr. Hackman this morning. Thoughts she longed to share soon with Judah. Lord willing. Perhaps next week, once she had her wits about her and could look him square in the eye.
I saw a ruby-throated hummingbird early this morning. So tiny... and very busy. It flew back and forth amongst the blossoms, stopping for nectar. Its wingbeats were so fast they were a blur, and my heart beat faster, just watching. Then, effortlessly, it flew backward. I’d seen this before, but not till that moment did I realize that I, too, have flown backward, wanting to revisit my past and undo it somehow. Not to gather sweetness, but for the healing I hoped this difficult journey might bring to the people I’ve hurt. Samuel first, and to our child. But I failed to consider the hurt it might do to my husband, Judah... because I never had the courage to fess up to my sins.
I just pray I have not stirred up bitterness through my search for my first child.
Her need to right her past wrongs had been the very reason Lettie had never been able to make herself share openly with Judah. That and her concern that disclosing everything might simply make things worse between them. Yet now she knew she must reveal all. Hard as that would be, she was weary of the deceit: She should never have allowed Judah to believe she had been a virtuous bride when that was far from the truth.
But if she could warn her teenage self – the foolish, headstrong Lettie who had wanted her own way above all else – what would she say? How would she counsel her? Would I make the same mistakes again? In her heart, Lettie knew she would not. Something within her had changed... shifted for the better.
Tired now, yet feeling somehow freer, Lettie rose and placed the tablet and pen back in her suitcase. Then, leaving the room, she headed up the hill to Hallie’s English neighbor to try to reach a driver once again.
What’ll I tell Dat now? The question tormented Grace all during the trip through eastern Ohio. Of course she would tell him that Mamma had already left – going exactly where, no one knew. Yet how could she phrase it so as not to cause him far more concern than he already suffered? It seemed so unnecessary for Mamma to go away in the first place, but now this? It felt as if she’d abandoned them all over again.
Grace was drained; she hadn’t slept well last night. The long stretch of highway and her all-too-modern surroundings only added to her displaced feeling as she sat in Heather’s car.
Heather switched on her music once again, and Grace felt great appreciation for her kindness and comfort during the long, sleepless night. For her patience today, too. Grace laughed inwardly at herself; she’d gotten rather tongue-tied this morning and mistak
enly referred to FaceTube instead of what Heather informed her was the actual name for a “social network,” as she called it, as well as a way to share videos. Honestly, how does she keep track of such things?
Leaning back, Grace watched the mile markers zip by. It dawned on her that if all went well, they would arrive home sooner than originally planned. I’ll be back to doing what I’m cut out for – cooking and cleaning and gardening, too.
In her drowsy state, she thought of Yonnie Bontrager. It seemed so long since he had asked her to be his girl, yet only two days had passed. His expression had been so appealing this past Wednesday morning on the road. What will he think of Mamma now? she wondered, remembering that he had believed Mamma was merely visiting in Baltic.
But, oh, Grace knew better. By the cautious look on Susan’s face and her ever so guarded comments, she knew that Mamma still had her secrets. Truly, it would be ill timed to accept Yonnie’s invitation to court. She folded her arms and looked at the sky. How could she agree to be his girl under these circumstances?
Grace wondered what Mamma would advise, ever so curious about such matters now that her mother was out of reach. How would Mamma handle a kindhearted fellow like Yonnie, as well as the possible obstacles to happiness that might lie ahead?
Her eyelids felt heavy as she pondered what Mamma might say if she were here and knew Grace’s thoughts. She was fairly certain her mother could impart some sort of understanding, having lived long enough to understand about fellows and love and suchlike.
Oh, Mamma... I need your wisdom.
Judah shoved the door to the sheep barn shut, having heard tires crackle on the driveway. His pulse pounded as he spotted Heather Nelson’s dark blue car drive up and stop at the back door. “Gracie’s back,” he whispered. Then, softer yet, “Lettie, too?”
Oh, my love... are you there?
The sun gleamed off the windshield, making it impossible to determine how many passengers were inside. He imagined Lettie stepping out of the car, smiling when she caught his gaze. What will she say? He tugged on his suspenders. And what’ll I say to her ?
The Telling Page 6