“But it’s not your fault you didn’t find her.”
“I s’pose not.”
“No, no... I mean it,” he said. “I’m concerned for you, Grace. You need to get past this.”
“How would you feel?” she asked quietly.
“Prob’ly exactly like you do.” His voice was gentle.
She didn’t want to discuss this further. Not now, with the night so painfully sweet and the moon nearly too bright. She felt too susceptible to his kindheartedness.
The Cape May diamond shifted in her pocket as she walked. Dare I bring up his question about us courting?
He continued talking, saying that a few of the young men were getting together tomorrow after supper to chop down the kudzu vines across the road from Andy Riehl’s. She mentioned that Adam and Joe might want to help and glanced up at him, breathing easier suddenly.
“We’ll be glad for any help we can get.”
She told him what Adam had said about not wanting to get the Lancaster authorities involved by reporting the vine. Dat had read that some communities were being coerced to spray the toxic weed. “They’ve had to bring in outsiders to do it.”
“I can see why the bishop wants to handle things. Daed says there’s something like over a hundred sites in Pennsylvania where the vine is thriving. And from what he heard over at the buggy shop, the state doesn’t have any funds for an eradication program.”
“Sounds like it’s just as well we’re taking care of it ourselves, then,” Grace commented. “Hopefully you’ll have a nice day.”
Their conversation turned to the exceptionally warm night, and then Yonnie mentioned an upcoming work frolic at the nearby schoolhouse. “The school board wants to get it all spruced up and painted for next fall,” he said.
Grace listened, but his important question of the other day – and her obvious lack of a reply – nagged at the corners of her mind. Still, Yonnie’s easygoing and down-to-earth manner was so pleasant, she felt less inclined to broach the subject. She wanted to be in the right frame of mind, and just now she was anything but.
Meanwhile, Grace and Yonnie talked and walked deep into the night, farther and farther away from her father’s house....
fourteen
All day Adah had fretted and fussed over Jakob. He wasn’t himself during Preaching, nor at the common meal, when he had sat and picked awkwardly at the food on his plate. But when he had passed up the snitz pie, Adah knew for sure something was wrong.
Now, as she sat in bed, she watched him thrash about, muttering futile words in his fitful sleep. His breathing, too, was shallow – sometimes he didn’t breathe at all for fifteen or more seconds at a time. What the world’s wrong? Is Lettie weighing on his mind again?
Her husband had always been strong as a mule, the healthiest son of all Mother Esh’s boys. Strong mentally, too. If only he’d wake up so Adah could talk to him and ease his worries. She wanted to take his hand and offer a prayer for peace. During his waking hours today, she’d tried to soothe him by diverting his attention to mundane things, especially during their ride back from Ethan’s – their former homestead.
Jakob wasn’t the only one who’d seemed agitated today. She’d noticed Judah shifting his weight from one foot to the other as he waited to go inside the house with the other men, and she’d seen the terrible disappointment on his face.
“Oh, Lettie... if only you had an idea of what sufferin’ you’ve caused here,” she whispered into the stillness. I’m a big part of it, too, she thought, tears burning her eyes.
Her husband stirred in his sleep, muttering sadly as he turned over yet again.
Jakob needs Lettie home, O Lord, she prayed, getting up and walking from the room to the very end of the hallway. So does Judah.
She peered through the dormer window into the nearly iridescent moonlight and wondered if Grace had returned. The girl had slipped out of the house some hours ago. Adah had strained her neck to watch her head north, past the Riehls’ place, walking fast, like she had someplace to be.
Like Lettie used to rush off to meet her first beau. The jolting remembrance rushed over her. Like most mothers, she’d merely watched from the house, hoping the best for young Lettie and gritting her teeth all the while. Never once had Adah attempted to follow her, although she’d known of one mother who’d silently chased after one of her rebellious brood during his Rumschpringe, just to see what he was up to.
Maybe if I’d done that, things would’ve turned out differently... and Lettie’d be at home even now.
She wandered back to the bedroom, where Jakob had begun snoring loudly. Going to the oak blanket chest he’d made before their wedding day, she dug clear down and found what she’d been thinking about nearly all day: an envelope with the name of a doctor printed on a letter inside, along with other information written in midwife Minnie Keim’s own hand.
Moving to the bedroom window, Adah opened the letter and read the kindly man’s name: Dr. Joshua Hackman.
“Lettie... have you finally found what you’re longing for?” she whispered. “I wish now I’d helped you find your child.” My own granddaughter...
Grace and Yonnie walked north together, bathed in moonglow, the white light shining on their shoulders like shimmering butterflies. Pleasantly they discussed the many ways to keep the Lord’s Day. Grace listened as Yonnie told of his family’s surprisingly strict approach to keeping the day holy.
“Some of my cousins, out west – Indiana, ya know – were allowed to go fishin’ or even swimming when I was a boy, but Daed never let us,” Yonnie told her. His voice was clear but quiet, and the rhythmic sound of it made Grace want to soak up every word.
“We know some folk down near Quarryville who let their young children swim or run through sprinklers on a Sunday,” she said. “’Specially the no-Preachin’ ones.”
Yonnie shook his head. “Daed wouldn’t allow that. He believes that each and every Lord’s Day is to be reverently observed, no matter if we gather for worship or not.”
Grace could remember sitting on the wood floor in young Becky’s bedroom, playing with their faceless dolls on Sunday afternoons. Sometimes, when they were older, they even discussed sewing projects on those quiet days, and she wondered what Yonnie might make of that. Not that she wanted his approval; she just wondered how dogmatic he might be... if he knew.
“What about volleyball?” Yonnie suddenly asked. “Have you ever played on a Sunday?”
“A few times, but Dat always cautioned us to keep our voices subdued.”
Yonnie chuckled. “Well, how’s that possible?”
“Jah, it’s hard to play without makin’ a sound,” she agreed, deciding she wouldn’t bring up playing jacks out on Becky’s sidewalk, either. No, their occasional squeals of delight whenever they’d get all the jacks in a swift sweep of the hand would undoubtedly not have been to Ephram Bontrager’s liking.
Now, considering it, she saw that she and Becky – and sometimes Mandy – had spent plenty of Sunday afternoons in fun. She and Becky would ride their scooters lickety-split down the road, then throw their scooters into the shade behind the old telephone shanty and sit back there under the trees and whisper secrets. Sometimes they’d even listen in on folks’ phone calls – which they knew was wrong – watching dust particles hang in the air like the thin curtains some Englischers had in their fancy bedrooms.
Grace shrugged away the frivolous memories and wondered how long Yonnie was going to follow the creek before turning back. Would he walk her to her house yet tonight? The thought of going alone all that way suddenly seemed very unappealing, and she sighed.
“What is it?” Yonnie looked down at her.
“Nothin’, really.”
“Thought you were ’bout to say more.”
She shook her head, changing her mind. They were quiet for a time, the only sound the snapping of twigs beneath their feet.
Then, a few minutes later, Yonnie spoke. “Have you thought about what I asked ya,
before you left for Ohio?” His voice was soft again.
She felt sad that he’d brought it up. “Jah, quite a lot.”
He slowed his pace, waiting.
“Oh, Yonnie, I’m in no position to accept your offer of courtship. Not yours or anyone’s.” She faltered. “My mother wasn’t out in Ohio visiting a friend when the Fisher girls saw her last week. She’d only just met Susan Kempf when Mamma accepted her offer to stay at her house for a while.”
“I see.” Yonnie’s words hung there, as if they’d gotten caught on a tree branch overhead.
“Susan told me that Mamma was on some sort of search.”
“She left home on a search?” Yonnie asked.
“Susan seems to know more than what she told me.” Grace felt much too comfortable talking to him like this – she’d explained too much already.
Stricken, she reached into her pocket and pulled out the beautiful Cape May diamond. Raising it, she held it out before her and stopped walking. “I don’t know how to say this, but I think I ought to return this to you.”
He placed his hands over hers, curling them around the stone and giving a gentle squeeze. “No, Gracie, it’s yours.”
“Denki,” she whispered, afraid he might hear the tremble in her voice. “Ever so kind of you.”
“A gift from a friend is meant to be kept.” His words might’ve sounded like a reprimand had anyone else spoken them. But his considerate tone made it possibly the sweetest thing she’d heard a fellow say.
“Friends, then?” she said shyly.
“Sure, Gracie. If that’s what you need.”
She knew what he meant, and she was thankful she hadn’t offended him.
A full hour before dawn Monday morning, Grace was up and already starting the washing in the cold cellar. There, in the dingy area across from hundreds of canned goods on rows of makeshift shelves, she sorted through yet another pile of dirty clothes. She couldn’t stop thinking how nice it was of Yonnie to walk her all the way back home last night. If not for the situation with Mamma, she could certainly see herself regularly enjoying the company of this young man.
Hearing someone on the stairs, Grace looked to see Mammi Adah moving toward her empty-handed, her hair tidy and neat. Her eyes had gray shadows beneath them, and her thin mouth was drawn as she shuffled across the cement floor.
“Mornin’, Mammi.” She felt as tired as her grandmother looked.
“Heard you up, dear.”
“Wanted to get an early start.”
Mammi smiled wryly. “Earlier than usual.”
“Jah.” Need to keep myself busy.
Just then, Grace remembered seeing Mammi Adah, as a much younger woman, herding a whole group of towheaded grandchildren outside to pick blueberries very early in the day. Mammi had touched the top of each little head, smoothing hair as soft as corn silk before Grace and her small cousins had all marched across the yard, carrying their buckets to the berry rows. Oh, but Grace wished she could recapture the happy, safe feeling she’d had then.
“I wish I’d found Mamma and brought her home,” Grace said. “I wish it every day.”
Mammi Adah fluttered her wrinkled hand. “You’re not to blame.”
“But still.”
Mammi’s eyes were suddenly moist, and she moved toward the pile of the boys’ clothes and leaned down to help sort the whites, colors, and darks. “We’ll work hard and keep caught up with chores,” she said more softly. “’Tis best thataway.”
Jah, ’tis.
Once the whites were loaded into the wringer washer, Mammi asked, “How was it... traveling with the Englischer to Ohio?”
“Just wonderful- gut, really. Heather’s very nice, and we did a lot of visitin’.” Grace measured out the laundry soap and sprinkled it over the clothes. “It’s funny, but her birthday’s in April, too.”
Mammi nodded absently.
“You know,” Grace said, “I think you’d like Heather if you got to know her better.”
“Keep in mind she’s English, so she may not be the best choice of a friend.”
She bristled at her grandmother’s pointed remark. There were other worldly outsiders who’d become fast friends with some of the People, and as far as she’d heard, no one seemed to quibble over that. Martin Puckett, their driver, came to mind. Why, she’d observed her own father talking quite spiritedly with Martin on several occasions.
But seeing her grandmother glower presently, Grace knew better than to press things further about Heather Nelson.
fifteen
Heather finished up her last-minute packing long before she heard the clink of silverware and dishes downstairs in Marian’s kitchen. She also managed to respond to well-wishing text messages from her online friend Jim, as well as from her father, who said he was definitely coming tomorrow.
On Heather’s second trip to the car, Marian stopped her in the kitchen and offered to store her extra clothing and books. “Just till you’re ready.” Heather smiled and thanked her. “I mean it. I’d love to help out,” Marian said. “You might even wish for a nice, hot, home-cooked meal by that time.”
It was obvious that very few folk understood what transpired at the lodge, something Heather was about to experience firsthand. “I really haven’t decided what I’ll do after my juice fast,” she told Marian, “but I appreciate the offer.”
“Oh, but surely you’ll want to stay round here while your father’s house is built?” A smile flickered across her face. “Won’t ya?”
Even though it was a mere ten days until the lodge stay was finished, Heather couldn’t allow herself to think that far ahead. “I have no idea where I’ll be, but it’s very nice of you to offer, Marian. Thanks so much.”
Marian called for one of her teenage sons to “Kumm mit!”
“Oh, that’s all right,” Heather said. “There’s really not much luggage left.”
But Marian insisted, and by the time the trunk was loaded and Heather was waving good-bye to nearly the whole family, lined up like birds on a power line, she almost felt sad. Backing up to the road, she recalled her mood the first time she’d pulled into this lovely long lane, nearly a month ago. She gave one last wave to young Rachel and Sarah, who’d run barefooted all the way down to the road after her, flapping their little hands in the air.
Should I have told Marian about my Ohio Amish roots? she wondered during the short drive. What about Grace – should I tell her?
When she pulled into the parking lot of the lodge, Heather was feeling rather blue. She breathed deeply and straightened, putting on a smile as she trudged up the sidewalk. Buck up, girl. This could be the first day of the rest of your life....
Inside, Heather was impressed by the airy, bright entryway and plant-filled common area, as well as the exceptional congeniality of the staff. A petite, blond young woman named Arielle showed her to a small but cozy room upstairs. The space was modestly furnished and had a west-facing window, which Heather preferred, being a night person. When Arielle left the room, Heather stretched out and tested the mattress on the oversized twin bed. It was not on par with the pillow-top mattress she was accustomed to at home, nor was it as comfortable and firm as the bed at Marian’s, but it would be fine for the duration of her stay. Already, though, she missed her cheery room at the Riehls’, as well as her larger suite of rooms back home, so ideally removed from the main part of the house. Like a miniature Dawdi Haus, she mused, missing her childhood home so much she felt pulled back to it like a magnet. The house where Mom fought her final battle so bravely.
But today was about Heather’s battle, and she knew she’d better get on with it. Downstairs, Dr. LaVyrle Marshall, dressed to the nines in a peach-colored suit and tan heels, was smiling and talking with different people in the gathering room, welcoming the new patients – eight in all, including Heather. The naturopath’s eyes were kind and her expression disarming as she began to discuss the “daily program here at the lodge.” A regimen, Heather decided as she once again
heard the numerous aspects described, including how to begin and break a fast. The level of detail made it evident LaVyrle believed in treating the whole body. “Your time here is about helping your body to find the problem area, and letting your body get to work on it.”
There were other elements that brought healing, as well, LaVyrle said. “For instance: drinking pure water, breathing deeply, loving fully, having faith, embracing hope... and nurturing friendships. I consider all of these vital to optimal health.” She then launched into the differences between acidic and alkaline foods, emphasizing the importance of achieving the right balance in one’s diet. She handed out a list of alkaline fruits to each patient before moving on to discuss the benefits of neutral fruits – all kinds of melons, peaches, and strawberries – then talked about the slightly acidic fruits. “Grapes, bananas, avocados, and dried fruits.”
Karl, a middle-aged man from Texas with an appealing drawl, asked, “How would someone know if his body’s off-kilter... er, balance?” Karl went on to tell the group he’d undergone cancer surgery and numerous rounds of chemo and radiation and was still terminally ill. “With only a month or so left to live.” He paused. “I’ve got four grandchildren who put all kinds of zing in my life.... I’m doing this for them – and for me.” His voice cracked so that he could hardly get the words out.
LaVyrle’s eyes glistened as she moved to his side. Touching his shoulder gently, she replied, “Thanks for sharing this with us, Karl.”
Heather noticed other heads bobbing in agreement, and she found herself aching for the man.
LaVyrle continued, still standing near Karl. “To help you understand what I mean, a body that is out of balance is an acidic system,” she said. “That can cause a number of problems, such as a quick temper, stress headaches, and addictions to everything from alcohol to coffee. At its worst, an overly acidic system creates conditions ripe for deterioration... and the growth of cancers.” She looked again at Karl, then the rest of them.
The Telling Page 9