by Leslie Gould
Judah stepped out from the barn and called out a hello to Jean-Paul too. As he neared, Judah said, “This is Emma Gingrich.”
Surprised he remembered her first name, Emma corrected him. “Emma Fischer,” she said.
A confused expression passed over his face as she lifted her hand in greeting toward the man and woman.
“Jean-Paul and Mathilde Bernard,” Judah quickly said. “And their son, Baptiste.”
Walter addressed Jean-Paul. “Thank you for telling us about the midwives. I don’t know what we would have done without them.”
Emma didn’t think of herself as a midwife—she was nothing more than Mamm’s assistant—but she chose not to correct that statement.
The woman said something to Jean-Paul in French. He held his pipe in his hand as he addressed Walter. “Mathilde would like to go see Sarah.”
Walter nodded. “I think she’d like that.”
Jean-Paul jumped down and took the boy, swinging him to the ground. Then he raised his arms to his wife, giving her a tender smile. Her eyes shone as he gently eased her down. Jean-Paul was quite a bit older than the woman. There was gray in his beard and mustache, and his skin was weathered and wrinkled, probably from the sun but perhaps also from age.
As Mathilde approached, it became obvious she was Native. Emma froze for a moment, thinking of all the warnings she’d heard about raids and violent attacks, but then she remembered her manners and opened the door for her. Mathilde took her bonnet from her head. She wore her hair in a bun at the nape of her neck, and beads hung from her pierced ears. Emma had never seen a Native person before. They’d left Somerset County long before Emma was born.
Once inside the cabin, Emma turned to Mathilde. “My name is Emma.”
The woman nodded. “Oui.” Obviously she’d understood what Judah had said in English.
Sarah, who was in a clean nightgown with the baby swaddled and tucked in beside her, smiled up at Mathilde. “We’ve named him Hiram.”
Mathilde took the baby and held him up to her face, putting his cheek against hers. “Hiram and Baptiste will be friends.” Her English was stilted.
Sarah nodded but didn’t say anything.
As Mathilde placed the baby back beside his mother and then stood up straight, the fabric of her dress caught across her middle. Emma wondered how soon she was expecting another little one. Mathilde told Sarah good-bye and slipped out of the cabin.
Later that afternoon, as Emma picked beans from the garden, Judah approached from where he’d been mending the pasture fence and asked if she needed help with anything. “I can fetch water for you,” he said. “Or haul wood.”
“I could use more water.” She had spent much of the day caring for the baby so Sarah could rest. Now she needed to prepare something for their dinner. “And is there meat in the smokehouse? Perhaps a ham? Or some bacon?”
Judah nodded. “I know there’s bacon. I’ll get potatoes from the root cellar too.”
Another storm was brewing, so Emma would need to cook in the house. The day had grown hot and muggy, and the small cabin was already suffocating. It would soon be unbearable. Back home, during the summer, Asher would move her stove out to the cooking shed to keep the house from getting too hot.
An hour later, Judah had filled the buckets with water, stoked the fire and filled the woodbox, and brought in a slab of bacon and four potatoes. Emma buried the potatoes in the coals and mixed up biscuits, placing them in a Dutch oven and placing it in the coals too. Then she began to fry the bacon and the beans she’d picked.
Emma served the two men at the table and Sarah in bed, holding little Hiram so his mother could eat. Once they were all finished, she dished up a plate for herself. Walter sat on the edge of the bed next to Sarah and held the baby, but Judah stayed at the table.
“Why did your family come west?” he asked.
“For land,” Emma answered. “My Dat wanted my brothers to have their own farms. What about you?”
He smiled. “Walter and I grew restless in Ohio.”
“How long have you been here?”
“Four years.” He nodded toward the bed. “Walter went back to marry Sarah two years ago, once we had the cabin and barn finished and the first two years of crops harvested. Two other families around our age said they would come, but they haven’t yet. They wrote to say they’ve been delayed, which means Sarah hasn’t had many other women around.”
“Except for Mathilde.”
“Jah,” he said. “She and Jean-Paul have been here for four years too, settling in Union Township right before her people were forced to leave.”
“Forced?”
“Well, coerced at least.”
Emma broke her biscuit in two. “Who are her people?”
“The Potawatomi Nation.”
“Where did they go?”
“Kansas. Many have already been sent on to the Indian Territory west of there. Some called their journey ‘the Trail of Death’ because hundreds died along the way.”
Emma shivered. No one had said anything about the Native people being forced off their land. They’d made it sound as if they had chosen to go.
“It’s all part of the Indian Removal Act,” Judah explained. “The goal is to clear the land for white settlers.”
Emma choked a little on her biscuit and quickly took a drink of water.
“Mathilde’s original name is Kewanee,” Judah said. “It means prairie hen. Mathilde is her French name. She and Jean-Paul met at the mission near South Bend.”
Emma exhaled. “Why did she choose to stay?”
“Because she’d already married Jean-Paul.”
So she had stayed for love. Or perhaps safety. Maybe both. But, no matter what, she’d given up her family. Emma took another drink of water. Was she willing to do the same to move back to Pennsylvania? To move back home?
CHAPTER 11
Savannah
My, I certainly went on and on with that story, didn’t I?” Jane stood. “I hope everyone stayed interested.”
“It was captivating,” Betty said.
“Absolutely,” Phyllis added.
I agreed. Why hadn’t anyone told me about Emma Fischer when I was younger? She was a woman who had truly lost everything, far more than I had. My heart ached for her, even though she’d lived over a hundred and fifty years in the past.
I found it fascinating that her mother was a midwife—and Emma assisted her. That was very much like my mother and me. Besides all of Emma’s losses, what was also heartbreaking was that the Potawatomi people had lived in the area before my ancestors ever arrived. I’d heard of the Indian Removal Act, but I’d always thought it had applied to North Carolina and other eastern states. Not Indiana.
“I’ve kept you all too long,” Jane said. “Here it is, after four on a dark winter’s night.”
“We’ll help clean up.” Mammi stood too.
“Oh no.” Jane started toward the refrigerator. “You, Savannah, and Wanda head over to Arleta’s, just in case she could use the casserole for their supper.”
I nodded. “Let’s grab our things and get going.”
“Here’s the quilt too,” she said, handing me both a pan and a parcel. “Make sure she knows it’s from the Plain Patterns quilters. We made it last year, before Arleta joined us.”
I assured her I would.
Once we’d climbed into the pickup, Wanda asked, “Could you drop me off at home first? I don’t want Tommy to wonder where I am.”
“Sure,” I answered as I plugged in my phone. Of course she shouldn’t go out to Arleta’s with us, not with Tommy being questioned about Miriam’s disappearance. That would be awkward.
When I pulled into Ervin’s driveway, the first thing I noticed was Tommy’s Jeep. Then I saw him carrying Mason, dressed in a puffy coat and boots, down the back steps of the farmhouse.
“Ach, I’ve almost missed him.” Wanda opened the door of the pickup. “Denki. I’ll leave a message if I can go to the next qu
ilting circle.”
As we called out good-byes, Wanda made her way toward Tommy and Mason. Tommy gave his mother a smile and then looked beyond her to the pickup. He smiled again and waved, without letting go of Mason.
Both Mammi and I waved back. As I pulled out of the driveway, Mammi sighed. “I can’t believe that Tommy could be involved in Miriam’s disappearance.”
“I sure hope he isn’t,” I responded.
Mammi spoke softly. “I would only say this to you.” She glanced at me, a furtive expression on her face, and dropped her voice even more. “But I can’t help but wonder where Kenny Miller is.”
“I’m guessing Deputy Rogers is wondering that too and looking into it.”
“I certainly hope so,” Mammi said. “I don’t want Tommy to be held responsible for something he didn’t do.”
“Have you heard people talk about Kenny?” I asked.
Mammi nodded. “I don’t know if the talk is true or not, but I think there’s probably reason to be suspicious of Kenny.”
“What about of Tommy?”
Mammi sighed. “I’m not saying Tommy is without fault—none of us are—but I don’t believe he would do anything to harm Miriam.”
“What if he thought he was helping her?”
Mammi pursed her lips. “I don’t think he would help her by causing her to disappear. I’m sure he has more common sense than that.”
I drove on in silence, my thoughts drifting back to Ryan. He’d certainly surprised me by his behavior—not only ditching me at the last minute but also not paying when he said he would. I thought about calling his mom about the credit card problem but decided not to. I didn’t want her to feel responsible.
The sky darkened as we drove, and a few more snowflakes fell. It appeared another storm was on the way. Hopefully, it would wait until we were home.
As I drove, my phone rang. I glanced at it as I drove, hoping it wasn’t another vendor. It wasn’t. It was Uncle Seth’s number. I handed it to Mammi. “Would you answer it? Just hit the green button.”
She fumbled as she grabbed the phone, then recovered and took off her glove to answer it.
“It’s me,” she said, loudly. “Dorothy.”
Uncle Seth was speaking as loudly as she was. “I’m still sick.” That probably meant I could wait until Friday to get a rental. I was grateful for the use of his pickup. “Could you and Savannah stop by the store?” he asked. “I need tissues, more cough medicine, and lozenges.”
“Jah, we’ll do that,” Mammi said. “How are you doing for food?”
“I still have some of your soup,” Uncle Seth answered.
“We’ll stop by in about an hour,” Mammi said.
“See you then.” Uncle Seth ended the call, and Mammi dropped my phone, like a hot potato, back on the seat between us.
A few minutes later, I turned down the lane to the Wenger farm. As I parked the truck, Vernon stepped out the back door in his coat and boots, clapping his gloved hands together. When he saw me, he frowned. I opened the door. “I have a casserole from Jane Berger.”
“All right,” he said. “Go on in the house. Arleta is resting on the couch.” That was good to hear.
Mammi climbed down out of the passenger side before I could help her. I did manage to loop my arm through hers, carrying both the casserole and the parcel in my other hand. I had her go up the steps first so I could catch her if she slipped.
When she reached the door, she opened it without knocking and stepped onto the mud porch and then into the kitchen. “Arleta,” she called out. “It’s Dorothy and Savannah. We have a casserole that Jane sent. And a baby quilt.”
“Come on in!” Arleta’s voice sounded more animated than I’d ever heard it. She sounded truly happy that Mammi had come to visit.
I put the casserole on the counter and followed Mammi into the living room.
Arleta sat on the couch, nursing the baby. I stopped myself from shaking my head. Vernon believed nursing a newborn was “resting.” True, at least Arleta had a chance to sit down, but it’s not as if she wasn’t doing anything.
“Take your coats off,” Arleta said. “And how about some tea?”
“Oh, we don’t want to wear you out,” Mammi said.
“Vernon will be doing the chores for the next couple of hours. And since Jane sent a casserole, I don’t need to make supper.” Her eyes lit up a little. “Now is the perfect time.”
“All right,” Mammi said, slipping out of her coat, which I took. But before I left, I placed the parcel beside Arleta. “This is from Jane and the Plain Patterns quilters.”
“Would you open it?”
I unwrapped the package and then unfolded the quilt, a simple nine-patch pattern made out of shades of pink and red. Arleta put her free hand to her neck, just above the baby’s head. “It’s so lovely.” She blinked quickly, as if fighting back tears.
I placed the quilt beside her, and she stroked the fabric as she continued to nurse the baby.
Touched by her display of emotion, I took in the beauty of the scene. A mother with a new baby and a gift of love from a caring community of women. Mammi often said that good works praised the Lord, which the pink quilt certainly did.
My voice was raw as I said, “I’ll put the kettle on.” I headed back to the kitchen. After hanging our coats in the mudroom, filling the kettle, and starting the flame, I stepped back into the living room.
Mammi had the baby up against her shoulder and was burping her. The quilt was now spread across Arleta’s lap. “My milk came in this afternoon,” she said to me.
“Great. How is everything going?”
“Just fine,” she answered.
“Have you heard anything about Miriam?”
She didn’t answer me directly and kept her eyes on the quilt as she spoke. “Deputy Rogers said he would come out in person if he found out anything so we don’t have to check the messages every hour.” She folded her hands over the pink squares.
Mammi shifted the baby to her lap. The little one, with piercing dark eyes, met Mammi’s gaze. “What have you named her?” Mammi asked.
“Ruthie Mae,” Arleta answered. “After Vernon’s grandmother. We’ll just call her Ruthie, though.”
“Lovely.” Mammi smiled at the baby.
Relieved the baby finally had a name, I sat down on one of the hard-back chairs. Arleta seemed like a different person with Mammi than with just me. If I’d only known, I would have dragged Mammi to Ruthie’s birth.
“I know this is probably hard to talk about.” Mammi turned her head away from the baby and toward Arleta. “Or even think about. But do you have any idea where Miriam might have gone?”
Arleta wrinkled her nose.
“Would she have gone back to Newbury Township?”
“I don’t think so,” Arleta said.
“Have you contacted her relatives up there to ask?”
She nodded. “Vernon left a message for them. They called back and said she isn’t up there.”
“Where else do you have relatives?”
“She wouldn’t have gone to my sisters. She doesn’t know them.”
“Any other relatives?”
“There are some around Gary, Indiana.”
I hadn’t heard of Amish in that area. “Isn’t that close to Chicago?”
She nodded again.
I asked, “Are they Amish?”
She shook her head. “Not anymore.”
“Does Miriam know them?”
“She’s met them. It’s Miriam’s aunt, on her father’s side. She is quite a bit younger than he was. She married a Mennonite man a few years ago. Vernon called them too but hasn’t heard back, which isn’t surprising. I’m not even sure I still have the right number, honestly. They’ve moved around some.”
I didn’t know much about Gary except that it was definitely part of the Rust Belt, with a dwindling population, few jobs, and lots of empty houses.
“Do you think she left on her own or that she
was forced?” I asked.
Arleta shrugged her shoulders.
I spoke slowly, dreading the answer. “Does Deputy Rogers have evidence that there’s foul play?”
She shook her head. “Not that I know of, but he seems suspicious of Tommy.”
The teakettle began to whistle, and I stepped back into the kitchen. Deputy Rogers did seem suspicious. But were his concerns based on the past or the present?
As I opened the cupboard next to the sink, looking for the tea, Joshua ran down the side yard toward the barn. Had someone dropped him off on the road, and he’d run through the field?
I found the tea, placed the bags in the teapot, and filled it with water. Then I pulled three mugs from the cupboard.
Mammi and Arleta’s voices continued in the other room.
“Did you see Jane’s column in the paper?” Arleta asked.
“Not yet,” Mammi answered.
“It’s there, on the table.”
There was a pause and then Arleta added, “She wrote that one for me. It means a lot.”
“Jah,” Mammi said. “I remember her telling the stories during our quilting circle.” There was another pause and then Mammi said, “She started a new one. This one is about a woman named Emma Fischer from the 1840s.”
“Ach,” Arleta said. “I wish I could be there to hear it.”
I stepped to the kitchen window again. Joshua hadn’t gone to the barn. He was still in the side yard, out of sight of Vernon, with his back toward me, texting on a smartphone. I froze, not wanting any movement to alert him I was there. Tommy was right. Joshua did have a phone. Should I tell Deputy Rogers?
I raised to my tiptoes and squinted as I peered out the window, but I couldn’t read his screen. Should I tell Arleta and Vernon? Should someone be reading his texts?
“Savannah?” Mammi called out.
I stepped away from the window, hoping Joshua couldn’t hear our voices.
“How is the tea coming along?” Mammi asked from the living room.
I stepped to the doorway. “It’s almost done.”
Mammi still had the baby on her lap, but the paper was beside her.