An Uncommon Grace (20 page)

“What did you say?”

“It doesn’t matter. Let me help you get undressed.”

After completing her examination and replacing the bandages with fresh ones, Grace snapped off her gloves, pleased with what she had seen.

“I’m very impressed,” Grace said. “You’re healing better and faster than I had hoped. You seem to be in a lot less pain than what I had expected.”

“Having my sister here was a great comfort. She took good care of me.”

“I’m sure she did.”
Grace put away her stethoscope. “Now, if you’ll just tell me where the bathroom is, I’ll wash up.”

“We have no bathroom,” Claire said. “It is not permitted. But you may wash your hands in the dishwater Rose poured before she left.”

Grace had washed up in more primitive situations, but once again, she was puzzled by yet another religious restriction. How could having or not having running water in a home make a difference to one’s salvation?

As she dried her hands on a nearby dish towel, she took a good look around the kitchen and noticed something else that was missing besides a sink with faucets.

“Where is your refrigerator?”

“They are forbidden.”

“But I saw propane-powered refrigerators at Lehman’s Hardware once. Grandma said the Amish use them.”

“Yes, but not Swartzentrubers. Our
Ordnung
does not permit refrigeration.”

“How can you feed kids without a refrigerator?”

“We just always have.”

No running water. An outdoor privy. No electricity. No refrigeration. How did these people manage to survive? Let alone raise healthy children?

“I’m going to take Grandma into town today to pick up a prescription. Is there anything I can get for you?”

“Oh no,” Claire said. “You have already been too kind.”

“Are you sure? Bread? Milk? Eggs? We always seem to be running out of those at our house.”

“Really?
Englisch
people run out of milk, bread, and eggs often?” Claire shook her head with pity. “That is sad.”

“Don’t you?”

“Seldom.” Claire brightened. “Rose made eight fresh loaves of bread yesterday. That will last us several days. I will
be well enough to bake my own by then—except women from church will probably continue to come by for a while, so I might not need to.”

“What about eggs and milk?”

“We have our two cows, so there is always plenty of fresh cream and milk and butter cooling in the spring
Haus
. And our chickens are laying well. We can hardly eat all the eggs we get. In fact, perhaps you would like to take some home with you. Elizabeth has always liked it when we have an overflow of eggs. She says that our chickens have nice, healthy, orange yolks instead of the pale yellow yolks of store-bought ones. She says it’s because our chickens scratch in the dirt for bugs instead of being locked in wire cages being fed nothing but chicken feed. I would not know about that. I have never bought eggs from the store.”

“Could I pick you up some canned stuff, then? Food that doesn’t need refrigeration, like some Campbell’s soups? Rose won’t be here to cook for you. Having a few cans of soup on hand when you’re not feeling well is nice.”

“That is true, but I still have fifty quart jars of beef vegetable soup remaining from the two hundred quarts that I canned last August using up the leftovers from my garden.”

The nurse in Grace was finding this conversation extremely interesting. With nutrition like this, no wonder Claire’s incision was healing so well.

“How many quarts of produce did you can last summer, total?”

Claire thought for a moment. “Including pears and peaches and cherries from our orchard?”

“Sure.”

“And grape juice from our grapes, and tomato juice?”

“Why not?”

“Counting all the apple butter, too—a little over fifteen
hundred quarts. I think there’s about three hundred left. That should get us through until our garden and orchard can produce again.”

“What about meat?”

“We butchered a pig and a steer and many chickens last fall.”

“How did you preserve that?”

“I put up four hundred quarts of cooked meat when the winter got cold enough to butcher. Canning meat makes it very tender.” Claire smiled, remembering all the good food she had put up. “That roast beef is handy coming up out of the cellar in the middle of winter. I make noodles and mix it with the beef and gravy and serve it over mashed potatoes. It is
appeditlic
—delicious. The children love that on a cold day. We smoked most of the pork—sausages, hams, and bacon.”

Grace was fascinated with the abundance and variety of Claire’s pantry.

“Potatoes?”

“Several bushels left in the cellar.”

“Apples?”

“Two different varieties in the cellar. Oh, and I have some cabbage and winter squash down there, too.”

“Don’t you at least have to buy sugar?”

“Not much. Abraham kept bees. We mainly use honey for sweetener.”

“Coffee?”

“Not so much. We mostly drink special teas that I make. Clover blossom and sassafras root are my favorites. They are very healing.”

“You’re making me hungry, Claire.”

“I’m sorry. I think we still have some of Rose’s fried potatoes left, and there’s some sliced bread and jam. Oh, I forgot. I made fifty pints of jam. Most of it from elderberries the
children and I picked down by the creek. Elderberries keep colds and sore throats away. Did you know that?”

“No, I did not know that.”

“I will go get you some—there are several pints left.” Claire started toward the door.

“Some other time, Claire.” Grace stopped her. “If you’re sure there’s nothing that you need—and it certainly sounds like you don’t—I’ll go ahead and leave. Grandma was getting herself ready for a doctor’s appointment when I left. I need to run by the grocery store afterward to pick up a few things and I promised her we could stop at Coblentz afterward and pick up some more fancy chocolates for her. It seems like she’s been craving sweets like crazy ever since her surgery.”

“Chocolate?” Claire’s voice rose.

“Would you like me to bring you some?”

Claire’s shy smile said it all.

“A woman who has been through everything you have should most definitely have some chocolate. I’m sorry I didn’t think of it sooner.”

“Thank you.”

Later that day Grace found herself prowling Rodhe’s IGA in Millersburg trying to find something to cook for supper, but she couldn’t get the idea of Claire’s homemade vegetable beef soup out of her mind.

There had been a time when a can of commercially made soup would have been fine with her. Now the only thing she could think about was wishing she knew how to make her own vegetable soup from scratch, just like Claire.

What other changes would she end up making if she continued to hang out with the Amish?

She had a feeling those changes, if they came, would be good ones.

C
onsidering everything that had happened, Levi found it a little strange that Zillah seemed in such a good mood, chatting pleasantly with him as they traveled the three miles to her house.

He clucked his tongue, willing his horse to go faster as Zillah talked about the dress material she had purchased for an upcoming wedding in which she would take part. He did not know if she was choosing the subject of weddings deliberately or if the only thing on her mind right now was how good she would look in her new dress.

With his horse team standing idle, Levi did not want to tarry. He needed to get back into the fields as soon as possible.

Ezra Weaver was walking from the barn to the house when Levi brought his horse to a stop. The bishop saw that Zillah was with him, and Levi could tell that he was not pleased to see her being brought back so soon.

“Your mother is feeling better?” the bishop asked.

“Much better,” Levi said. “We will be able to manage by ourselves now. My mother did not want to keep Zillah from her work here longer than necessary.”

“Does that mean her sister is gone?”

“Rose left with Henry this morning.”

“Good.” The
bishop was visibly pleased. “The babe is doing well?”

“Very well, thank you.”

Levi helped Zillah retrieve her things from the back of the buggy and then he set the various bundles on the ground at the bishop’s feet. With any luck, he might be able to leave without Zillah causing a scene.

“Is there word from the sheriff?” Bishop Weaver asked.

“I have heard nothing.”

There must have been a tinge of bitterness in his voice that the bishop picked up on.

“Vengeance is mine, saith the Lord,” the bishop quoted.

“Truly said. There is enough worry in each day now with my stepfather gone.”

“You need for me to send men to help?”

Part of Levi wanted to shout, “Yes!” but he did not want to appear weak.

“I can take care of my family.”

“Good.”

Zillah had evidently tired of the pleasant conversation between her father and Levi. Either that or she was tired of being ignored. Zillah, unlike any other Amish woman Levi had ever known, was seldom happy unless she was the center of attention.

She butted in, her voice high like that of a child tattling to a teacher. “Levi keeps forbidden books in his room, Father.”

“Is this true, Levi?” Bishop Weaver asked.

“I have no books in my room, except the Bible.”

It was true. Thanks to the bonfire last night, there were no books in his room except his stepfather’s German Bible, which he was planning on attempting, once again, to read.

“He is lying, Father.” Zillah reminded him of the small,
spoiled girl she used to be. “He does have books in his room. I saw them with my own eyes . . . while I was cleaning.”

Levi chose not to correct her. It was fine with him if the bishop believed his daughter’s lie that she was cleaning his room.

“He had books on all sorts of forbidden things. There was one that was lying open and it had a picture of a man with no skin on.”

“It was a book on biology,” Levi tried to explain. “The picture was that of the muscular structure of a human.”

The way Zillah had put it made it sound so much worse than it was.

“Did my daughter truly see these things?” the bishop asked.

“Yes,” Levi admitted, “but I burned them after your daughter pointed out to me how wrong it was to own such books.”

“It should not be up to my daughter to point out your wrongs,” Bishop Weaver said. “You are a baptized believer. You should know right from wrong.”

“I am very sorry.”

“Then that is good. You have confessed your sin to me, and you have rid yourself of those evil things. You are still young and sometimes young people’s judgment is not good. That is why you must leave it up to your elders to guide you. We will speak of it no more. There will be no need to confess your wrongdoing to the congregation on Sunday.”

“Thank you, Bishop.”

“Come along into the
Haus
, Zillah,” the bishop said. “Your mother will be glad of your help.”

Levi’s heart lifted. It was over. He had made it.

And just at that moment, as the bishop and Zillah were headed toward their house, the unthinkable occurred. It was
something so terrible that Levi could hardly believe it was happening.

The secret prepaid cell phone that he had purchased at Walmart two days after his stepfather’s murder, the cell phone he had paid the clerk to show him how to use, the cell phone he had asked the clerk to program to 911 only, the cell phone he intended for no frivolous use, the cell phone that no one on earth besides the clerk knew that he had, the cell phone to which no one on earth had been given the number—

That forbidden cell phone began to ring. And it rang. And rang.

He had never heard it ring before, and a distant part of himself wondered at the amazing amount of noise the tiny thing could make. The sound pealed out, splitting the quiet of the early morning. And it was not just any normal ringtone—no, it was some sort of rock-and-roll music the young clerk had chosen to program into it, probably as a joke.

Bishop Weaver froze in midstep.

Zillah whirled around, her face lit up with pleasure at his predicament.

Levi scrambled to pull the phone out of the top of his sock where he kept it. He fumbled with it, trying to turn it off. The clerk had shown him which button to push, and he remembered how, but in his nervous haste he felt as though he had sausages for fingers.

Finally, finally, he managed to press the right button, and the thing stopped its screeching. But the damage had been done.

“You keep a telephone in your trousers?” the bishop asked.

“In my sock,” Levi said miserably.

“And why do you keep this forbidden instrument upon your person?”

“In case there
is another emergency like there was the day my stepfather died. Only for that.”

“And you think God is not able to take care of emergencies?”

Levi felt a great bitterness welling up, thinking about his mother lying alone, bleeding, while he raced to Grace’s for help. With this cell phone, he could have saved many minutes and would not have had to leave his mother and siblings alone.

“God was not much help the night of my stepfather’s murder. It was Grace Connor who came to my family’s rescue.”

He didn’t mean to say it. He was not even aware that he was harboring such thoughts. The words came out of nowhere and sounded blasphemous even to his own ears.

“This is something you will need to repent of. I will expect your confession come Sunday.” The bishop frowned so deeply, his shaggy white eyebrows came together. “And you will dispose of that pocket telephone before then.”

Levi did not agree to get rid of it—nor did he disagree. He simply clucked to his horse, did a U-turn in the bishop’s driveway, and left. Thankfully, he was a mile down the road before the cell phone rang again.

This time, he remembered what the clerk had told him. He pressed the green button and listened to the voice on the other end.

“Susan?” a male voice asked.

“I am not Susan,” Levi answered.