Summer of Secrets

by Charlotte Hubbard

  Mamma sighed and took another cookie. “While you girls were at the quiltin’ frolic on Sunday. I ... went to see where Rebecca lived—to see how she grew up, and what sort of family she had and—well, I’m sorry I kept it from ya. Can ya forgive me?”

  “Oh, Mamma.” Rhoda’s fingers fluttered to a string of her kapp.

  Rachel felt a retort spinning like a storm cloud and bit it back. There was more to Mamma’s bad mood than she and her sister had imagined. “So ... after the way Tiffany practically spat on ya the other day, ya went to her house?”

  “There’s reasons for the way she is—the way we all are,” their mother said in a rush. “And sure enough, her dat—the man who raised her—is upset about her wearin’ those chains and black fingernails and whatnot, too. His wife lost her fight with cancer ... a sad story, and I was glad, afterward, that I went to meet him.”

  Mamma paused to beg their forgiveness with her wide chocolate eyes. She looked older, as if she’d been bearing the world’s weight on her shoulders. “Rebecca wasn’t home, and that was all right, too,” she remarked. “I think she moved out to spite him. Or on account of bein’ upset with the world after her mamm passed.”

  “Micah says she’s livin’ with a friend—and that girl’s boyfriend.” Rachel’s spoon clattered on the table. She crossed her arms, tempering her words so they’d get the whole story. “Seems he went to the trouble of seein’ her—figurin’ her out, like you—but all he got for his efforts was a lecture from Bishop Knepp yesterday. And again last night.”

  “Jah. And best I can figure, it was your Aunt Leah who told him I went. She and Sheila were the only ones who knew.” Mamma stood up to rub Rachel’s shoulder. “I’m guessin’ it was his foot in the door, far as tellin’ me I’m gettin’ too tied up in workin’ at the bakery when I should be devotin’ myself to a husband again. But that’s another thing altogether.”

  Rachel’s thoughts were still spinning as their mother slipped an arm around her shoulders. “I’m sorry this is all blowin’ up while you and Micah are makin’ your plans, honey-bug. S’posed to be a happy time, your courtin’—even if most of us know about it already,” she added with a laugh. “And ya probably think I’m spoilin’ things by chasin’ after a Rebecca who exists only in my mind. But I won’t be goin’ back to Morning Star. Saw what I needed to see, and came home to be with the girls who’ve been my pride and joy all their lives. I hope ya believe that?”

  “Oh, Mamma.” Rhoda hurried around the table to slip beneath their mother’s other arm, to be the final side of their triangle. “How could we think anything different? Ya poured yourself into the Sweet Seasons mostly for us—to keep from dependin’ on charity after Dat died, ain’t so? If that’s not love, I don’t know what is!”

  “Jah, there’s that,” Rachel murmured. She pulled Rhoda and her mother closer, grateful for her sister’s gentler way with words. This situation with Tiffany was by no means behind them—never would be. But at least Mamma had spoken her truth and told them about her visit, and they stood once again in each other’s arms ... a comfort they’d not shown so freely until it was the three of them without Dat. “And we’ll always be your girls, too, Mamma. Fer gut and forever.”

  “Jah. Fer gut and forever,” Rhoda echoed solemnly.

  For a moment the three of them stood linked, savoring the quiet of this kitchen ... the solidity of their bond. Rachel realized just how different things would be once she married—or if the bishop insisted Mamma find another husband, or if he closed the café. And considering how they loved working there—even though their days were long and tiring—it would be a shame for all of them and for Willow Ridge, too, if the Sweet Seasons closed.

  But the bishop had the final say. It was their way, the church’s Ordnung, and they followed it.

  “We’re seein’ now how hard it’s been for ya, knowin’ ya lost our sister when we were wee little,” Rhoda said with misty eyes. “And it hardly seems right that Hiram expects ya to just push her aside, outta your life—”

  “Well, he didn’t say that exactly,” Mamma clarified. “And I for sure and for certain didn’t agree to do that! Told him he couldn’t control what that troubled, grievin’ young girl did—”

  “Jah, no tellin’ how she’ll act now, knowin’ who her real family is.”

  “—and he couldn’t tell me who I was gonna love, either!” Their mother looked purposefully at each of them, pulling them closer in her embrace. “It was sass, most likely—as he saw it. But I wanted him to know he couldn’t go tellin’ me what man I was gonna settle down with, either. Because at my age, I refuse to settle. For anybody.”

  Rachel nodded emphatically, as did her sister. “It’s one thing to tell ya the mournin’ clothes’ve gotta go. Another thing altogether to make like you’re to marry him, just because he’s the bishop and he says so!”

  “Jah, Mamma, truth be told, I can’t see that workin’ out so gut,” Rhoda said with a shake of her head. “You followed the Old Ways, far as submittin’ to Dat and the church, but you get plenty riled up and ferhoodled when Hiram Knepp tells ya how things have to be!”

  “And that won’t change.” Mamma glanced down at her flour-smudged baking apron. “Told him I’d found my life’s purpose—feedin’ people—and that my café is helpin’ a lotta our families here in town, too. He wasn’t so agreeable to all that.”

  “Not used to a woman who thinks for herself, ain’t so?” Rhoda replied. “But with Dat gone, who else is gonna do the thinkin’ and decidin’ around here?”

  “Gotta be all of us, workin’ together,” Rachel agreed.

  “And that’s why I’ve held back from marryin’ and mixin’ you girls in with somebody else’s kids—in another man’s house.” Mamma smiled then, as though she felt herself rising above the questions Hiram Knepp’s visit had forced her to deal with. “It’s a lot to ask of children, not only to get along with another family—actin’ like everything’s all well and gut—but it’s another thing altogether to give up your home place, as well.”

  “Denki for thinkin’ that way, Mamma,” Rhoda whispered, sniffling.

  “Jah,” Rachel chimed in solemnly. Then she thought for a moment. “And what would happen to this place, were you to hitch up with another man, Mamma?”

  Their mother’s eyebrows rose expressively. “S’pose that depends on the man. With land bein’ so precious, and this place borderin’ the river, I’m thinkin’ plenty of fellas would farm it or bring in livestock again.” Mamma smiled. “Gut thing your dat insisted on payin’ his way, so he owned this place free and clear. That’s one reason we were able to get a loan to build the café and grow our business, without worryin’ about where our daily bread would come from till we turned a profit. Didn’t have to go beggin’.”

  “So ... what would happen to Dat’s smithy if ya got hitched again?”

  “I locked it up and left it just as it was when he passed, on account of how this town could use another good blacksmith. Didn’t want another fella tearin’ it down or clearin’ it out to use for somethin’ else. It was just a ... feelin’ I had, like God has another plan for that forge, just like he does for me.” Mamma smiled at them. “And Rachel, honey, I mean for you and Micah to live here in this house, same as I said before. No matter what I do about gettin’ hitched.”

  “You can live here, too, Mamma. You and Rhoda always have a place—”

  “I’ll keep that in mind, on the chance the bishop says I’ll no longer be bakin’ at the café. And if he does that, it’s for sure and for certain I won’t be marryin’ him! ”

  They all nodded, considering these things, until Rachel glanced at the bowls on the table. “Ya know, we’re gonna have us one big useless blob of sugar and peanut butter and oatmeal if we let that dough set up.”

  “Just one more thing, while we’re talkin’ this way.” Mamma smiled at them again, pride shining in her mellow brown eyes. She looked relieved ... restored. “When I was your age, courtin’ and deci
din’ which man to marry, I didn’t know a lotta things. But now I see it all from a different angle, and marryin’ a man’s a lot like puttin’ your money down on a big grab bag of fabric in Schrocks’ quiltin’ shop. Ya see on the outside how full it is, and how solid, and ya got a pretty gut idea that even if all the colors don’t suit, ya can make them work for somethin’.

  “But with a husband, ya don’t know what’s inside that grab bag until you’re hitched,” she went on wistfully. “Sometimes ya find pieces that rub ya the wrong way, or that just don’t go too gut with anythin’ else ... like when ya learn he’s got a short fuse, or he doesn’t so much want a wife as he wants a mother to clean up all his messes ... or worse, he mostly wants a draft horse that’ll work without complainin’ till it just drops over.”

  She kissed Rachel’s cheek then. “You’ve got a gut young fellow, honey-bug. I know how ya fussed about him goin’ to see Rebecca, but ya patched it up and went on. Des gut, and that’s what it takes to make a marriage work—long as he can do the patchin’ when you do somethin’ that doesn’t suit him.”

  She looked pensive then. “Your dat was a solid sort and we had a gut life, mostly. Only thing he never really got over was the way I let Rebecca wiggle loose that day at the river. Didn’t want her to be dead on account of my carelessness—”

  “Mamma, that wasn’t so!”

  “Ya did your very best, Mamma!”

  She sighed and released them with a hug. “Jah, I know that now. Made the best I could of it all those years you were growin’ up, too, and ... and seein’ how Rebecca wasn’t dead at all has kinda restored my faith in myself—and in God. There’s a plan at work here, girls. And someday we’ll figure out what it is.”

  As she glanced at her sister, Rachel saw the same determination in Rhoda’s eyes as she felt welling up within herself: determination and a rightness that went beyond anything she could do by herself, whether with her long-lost sister or with Micah. “We’ll make it all work out, Mamma. We want ya to be happy.”

  “Jah, ya deserve the life ya want, no matter what plans the bishop has.”

  Mamma nodded and wiped a tear from one eye, but her smile was bright. “Denki, girls, for helpin’ me through the rough spots. Couldn’t do it without ya.” She reached for one more of those peanut butter patties and closed her eyes over its deep sweetness. “I’ll fry us up some bacon for BLT’s while ya finish your cookies. I feel lots better about all of this now.”

  “Me too, Mamma,” Rhoda said, at the same time—in the same way—Rachel did.

  Hard to imagine how things would be different, had Rebecca not run off that day so long ago—and if she’d not come looking for her original family this past week, too.

  Whatever she’s doin’ right at this moment, God, I hope she knows we’re thinkin’ about her ... wantin’ life to work out for her, too, Rachel prayed. It seemed like a good idea—and it made her feel like smiling again, too.

  “So, Sister,” Rhoda said from across the table. The cookie dough was set enough that they were rolling it into balls between their palms now, letting the warmth from their hands soften it. “What-all’s inside that grab bag named Micah? What’re ya thinkin’ you’ll find when you open it, after you’re hitched?”

  Rachel’s lips curved. “That’s for me to know and you to wonder about! Ya just wish ya had a grab bag half so fine as mine, ain’t so?”

  Chapter 12

  Micah glanced at the gray clouds rolling in and wondered if God was telling him something. He lightly clapped the reins over Rosie’s back to hurry her along, past the Lantz house where Rachel would be getting dressed for the ice-cream social about now.

  Why are you breakin’ her heart again? Is this really such a gut idea?

  The first raindrops splattered on his shoulders, cold and wet through his clean shirt. Maybe he was defying the bishop, keeping his date with Tiffany to prove he knew better than Hiram Knepp—to give the lost Lantz sister a chance to reveal her positive qualities or to ask him more questions and settle herself about who she really was. The bishop had chided him for visiting Tiffany right in front of Rachel the other night in the smithy. Knepp had warned Rachel that her mother might need assistance, as well: such a troubled Englisher could only wreak havoc upon their family and infect Willow Ridge with her dubious influence, he’d said.

  And Rachel stood by you in spite of how you’d sneaked out on her... insisted this fascination and curiosity would pass because Tiffany was obviously as repelled by our ways as we were by hers. And you went along ... not lettin’ on for a minute that you were meetin’ Tiffany on the same night as the social. Liar! LIAR!

  Damnation in disguise, the bishop had pronounced her. And maybe Tiffany was more of a bad apple than Micah could see in the surface of that shiny red car.

  Yet something told him Rachel’s sister was hiding behind her black clothes, dyed hair, and tattoo, waiting for someone to shine some light on answers she could believe in. Wasn’t he supposed to be an example of God’s power and protection in this earthly life? Being older and more responsible, wasn’t he supposed to do right by both of these Lantz girls? And if he didn’t keep this date, he might never get another chance.

  Rachel, however, had no idea how his curiosity had intensified since he’d ridden in that Mustang. And truth be told, keeping his date with Tiffany while he left Rachel waiting announced his confusion about the issue, didn’t it? As he imagined Rachel’s blue eyes gazing at him with such trust and love the other night, he nearly turned Rosie around in the middle of the road. Why did Tiffany attract him so? She’d probably forgotten all about that dinner invitation she’d made in such an offhand way ... even if her eyes glimmered like a pretty summer sky, same as Rachel’s did.

  But he kept going up the highway, toward Morning Star. Toward answers he had to find even if he got shunned for spending time with her again ...

  Rachel glanced out her upstairs window for the dozenth time. Fresh from her Saturday bath and wearing the new plum cape dress she’d sewn, she felt happier than she could ever recall. Over and over in her mind, she imagined how wonderful-gut it would be to sit with Micah at one of the long tables, where his deep green eyes would shine with a love as bright as her own while they enjoyed homemade ice cream with their friends from around the district. While they wouldn’t openly announce their plans to marry, she intended to make it clear that she was spoken for. No more waiting around as the crowd dispersed, wondering if any of the boys would offer her a ride home. Micah Brenneman would be holding her hand, along with the key to her heart.

  “I’ll be goin’ now, Sis. You’re sure ya don’t want to ride over with—ach, but ya look real perty in that color!” Rhoda stepped into Rachel’s room then, her eyes a-sparkle. Rhoda’s dress was a deep shade of rust, as they had long ago decided not to dress alike, especially at social events.

  “Thanks, but Micah’s comin’ for me. I’ll fetch my cookies and walk with ya to the road, though.”

  As they passed through the kitchen, she picked up her tray from the table. Those dark chocolate chip cookies would surely be different from what the other girls brought, and the butterscotch bars were Micah’s favorite. “Seems kinda dim in here—”

  “Rainin’ out!” Rhoda announced. “Sure hope Jonah hitched up the covered carriage, or we’re gonna get soaked!”

  From the big front porch, they looked beyond the yard and the large garden, down the lane. A single window glowed in the back of the Sweet Seasons. “Just as well Mamma’s bakin’ this evenin’. She gets kinda blue when it’s dreary like this. Reminds her of the day we buried Dat.”

  “Jah, and the bishop didn’t help that any, tellin’ her to forget about Rebecca!” Rhoda peered between the side porch pillars, farther down the road. “Here come the Zooks now. Sure ya don’t wanna join us? Katie always loves tastin’ your cookies and talkin’ about recipes.”

  Rachel chuckled slyly. “Got better things to talk about, thanks.”

  As Rhoda grabbed an u
mbrella and hurried down the lane to meet her ride, Rachel remained beneath the porch roof. Micah would be along any time now, as he was never late ... would her sister ever find someone who made her as happy? Rhoda seemed content to accept an occasional ride with one fellow or another, but before much longer she’d be the oldest unattached girl at the singings ... destined to be a maidel if she didn’t hitch up with somebody soon. Maybe tonight, mingling with youth groups from New Haven, Morning Star, and districts beyond, some young man would be bowled over by how special Rhoda was. It would be wonderful-gut to marry on the same day this winter, twins that they were!

  But you’re really triplets. And Tiffany won’t care about sharin’ a wedding day. Will she wear black pants and black fingernails when she gets hitched?

  Rachel glanced at the kitchen clock. A little past six, it was. No sense in wearing a path in the porch floor, so she sat on the swing to watch for Micah. He’d probably gone back home for an enclosed carriage when the rain started ...

  By six thirty, Rachel was swinging so fast the cookie tray nearly slipped off the cushion. She grabbed it, scowling. What could possibly be making him this late? The turbulent sky was reason enough for him to stay off the road with Rosie, of course—and times like this were when she resented the Ordnung: if they had phones in their homes, Micah would have let her know he was waiting out the storm. Little chance he’d be phoning the Sweet Seasons from his carpentry shop, either, knowing she wouldn’t be at the café to answer it.

  A whoosh of wind and rain sent her inside, peeved as a wet cat. No sense in soaking her new dress, so she waited by the big window in the front room. Didn’t turn on the lamps, as Micah would surely be here any moment. He wasn’t one to miss homemade ice cream, and they were to serve dessert at six thirty. As the minutes ticked by, marked by the old mantel clock, Rachel became so upset she dropped down into a chair with her back to the lane, her arms crossed tightly.

  Micah could just come in and get her. He’d know why she wasn’t eagerly awaiting him outside. Rachel closed her eyes against the sting of tears, determined to hold herself together on this night she’d waited for so long.