Heritage of Lancaster County 03 The Reckoning (14 page)

At the time, Katherine had been moved to tears, but now she was able to think more rationally about the matter and wondered if her heart had been so touched then because she was attending the death of her birth mother. Surely, that's all there was to it.

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Every other Sunday was always spent visiting in Hickory Hollow, and Mary could hardly wait to take an afternoon drive to see Rebecca Lapp. It seemed--if she could believe the hearsay--that Katie's mamma was slowly inching out of her depression over the shunning and whatnot all.

Mattie Beiler had been heard telling Preacher Zook's wife at the General Store that Rebecca nearly launched off on one of her stories back last Monday at Annie Lapp's quilting frolic. In fact, she'd come that close to actually starting one of her old familiar yarns.

Praise be! Mary thought it right-gut news, but she just had to see for herself. So she hitched up Sugar and hopped in the carriage.

"Hott rum.'' she called to the horse, flapping the reins lightly. He turned to the right and hurried down Hickory Lane.

Rebecca did seem mighty glad to see her. Mary could tell by the way the woman greeted her with an enthusiastic, "Wie geht's, Mary? Gut to see ya."

She went inside, letting Rebecca assist with hanging up her coat, scarf, and outer bonnet. "Denki," she said, following the older woman into the warm kitchen, where cherry

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pie and vanilla ice cream were already spread out on the table, almost as if she had been expected.

"Sit down and have something to eat," Rebecca invited. Mary glanced around, surprised to see that Samuel wasn't sitting in his usual spot--the hickory rocker near the woodstove. "Isn't your husband at horneT"

"He's out checking on Tobias, our pony. The poor thing's got a stiff leg or some such ailment. Samael and the boys are having a look-see."

Mary remembered the pony. Satin Boy was the name Katie had given Tobias, right out of the blue, around the time she started obsessing on fancy things--out and out disobeying the Ordnung. At least that was the way Mary remembered it.

"It's awful nice of you to come," Rebecca was saying. "Since our daughter left, I don't see too terrible much of you, ya know."

Mary nodded. "I'll hafta remedy that, I 'spect. It's a shame we don't talk more." She was working up to telling the woman about Katie's letter--that her shunned daughter had inquired of her. But Mary felt she ought to wait till she knew, for sure and for certain, that it was the right time to bring up the subject. And that Rebecca would keep it quiet.

"Care for a piece of pie?" asked Rebecca, positioning the knife over the crust.

"Jah, looks delicious."

Rebecca dished up a hearty serving of the homemade dessert, piling a big scoop of ice cream on top, after getting the nod from Mary.

The two women enjoyed the sweet pastry together, smacking their lips in the quiet of the kitchen, a room filled with the smells of yesterday's baking. Mary wondered how terribly much Rebecca must miss her daughter's help around the house, especially in the kitchen, preparing food, baking bread and things.

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"I . . . uh, don't really know how to go about sayin' this, Rebecca, but..." She paused a moment, noticing instant concern creep into the woman's hazel eyes. "No, no," she assured her, "it's nothing bad I have to tell you, not at all. I received an unexpected letter from a stranger in New York . . someone who knows your daughter, is all. Anyways, the woman--her name was Rosie Taylor--wanted me to tell you that Katie, er, you know--Katherine--was worried about you, is thinkin' of ya. Guess she heard from Lydia Miller that you weren't feelin' all that gut for a spell there."

Rebecca put both hands in her lap and blinked several times in a row, creating an awkward silence. At last she spoke. "You say my daughter sent a letter written by someone else.., to you?"

"Jah, but she was awful careful about it--didn't want to cause trouble here in the Hollow. So I guess I'm thinkin' we should keep this under our hats, ya know . . . not mention it to anyone."

Rebecca smiled slightly. "Probably a gut idea."

They finished eating their pie, stealing glances back and forth. Finally, Mary got up the nerve to say something else. Something just as important as letting Rebecca know that Katie was thinking of her, missing her. Something she'd thought of discussing with the bishop but had only mentioned to her own mamma. No one else.

"I was wonderin'," she began again. "I thought maybe there might be a way to correspond with my dear friend up there in New York if... well, if I might speak to Bishop John about the possibility of being allowed to talk to her, or just maybe even write to her.., lift the talking part of the shunning. That way the People might be able to have some influence on the poor shunned girl."

Rebecca's face brightened "How do ya plan to go about such a thing?"

"Well, I don't rightly know, but I'm hopin' something--

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some powerful-gut idea might come to me when..." She almost let it slip that she was going to be seeing the bishop privately or some such revealing comment. "Whenever it is that I might have a chance to speak to the bishop about it." It was a feeble attempt to cover her tracks. Watching the expression in Rebecca's eyes, she was pretty sure that Katie's mamma didn't suspect much of anything from the slip of Mary's tongue.

Sighing softly, Rebecca gathered up the plastic dessert plates and rinsed them off. "You and the bishop seem' each other some?" she said from the sink.

Mary's heart leaped up at the question. So Rebecca Lapp was smarter than she thought. "Oh, ya know ... after Preachin' services and all." That sort of answer might not satisfy, but it was the best she could do without lying.

Turning now, Rebecca looked her square in the face, the dishwater dripping down off her wrists. "Then . . . are ya sayin' that you think ya might be able to get my shunned daughter to see the light and return and confess on bended knee?"

"I can only pray so."

"But if she did do all that--come back to the bishop and the People and repented her sins--she wouldn't have the opportunity to enjoy the blessing of marryin' Bishop John, after all. That is, if he'd even have her back."

Mary felt like a fool. Why had she bothered to bring the topic up? She wished she'd never said a word about it.

Rebecca continued. "You must be thinkin' that by speaking the words of the Ordnung to my girl, it could bring her back, only to have her suffer the pain of singleness all the rest of her days. Or maybe you're hopin' she and Daniel will find each other out there in the world and return together." She crossed the kitchen to come to the table, a fierce look on her plump face. "Well, if that's what you're a- thinkin', Mary Stoltzfus, let me tell you right now, that's no

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way to treat a best friend.., takin' her prospects for a husband right out from under her nose."

"I . . . uh, I don't think you understand, Rebecca," she said, trying her best to talk sense to the woman.

"No, no. You listen to me! You know what you're doin', Mary, and I don't like it one bit. It's not becoming to Amish ways, neither." Rebecca's face was flushed pink, her eyes moist with angry tears, welling up and threatening to spill. "If you ask me, I think you must've been waitin' all along for the bishop. You waited till my girl left town to make your move."

Mary was horrified, shocked. She could scarcely breathe now; her heart pounded hard beneath the bodice of her dress and apron. "That's not true. Honest it ain't." She might've tried to explain further, but she heard the sound of the men coming in the back door, the clump of their boots on the utility room floor, the banter between them.

"You best be goin' now," Rebecca said sternly, turning her back to tend to the dishes in the sink.

Mary rose and left quickly. She never said a word of thanks for the pie, not a word of greeting to Samuel or his sons. And she didn't speak softly to Sugar as she hitched him up to Dat's carriage. It was all she could do to get herself inside the buggy and covered up for the cold ride home.

Then, seeing the heavy lap robe John had loaned her the night before, she gritted her teeth and found the reins, shaking more from the stinging words than from the chilling breeze.

Katherine marveled at the concert hall--the lovely seating, the large stage framed with enormous velvet curtains. She hadn't recalled ever being inside such a fascinating place

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but didn't let on to Justin, who was dressed in a tuxedo for the evening event.

Glad that Rosie had helped her choose the perfect dress for the occasion, Katherine settled back in the cushioned seat, reveling in the dissonant, yet pleasant sound of the string section tuning to the first violinist's instrument. Won- derful-gut, she thought, ready for a night of music.

Justin glanced at her, offering a gentleman's smile. Once more she understood her attraction to this man, her charming date. He was more than attentive, always thinking of her, it seemed. Always willing to offer her an interesting time. Yet she wondered how he might feel if he knew- that she felt awkward in his high-society circles, that she was still trying to acclimate herself to the newness of her life.

Rosie's words had come to her on several occasions since the maid had uttered them frivolously, then had apologized speedily. Justin Wirth has noticed your aristocratic roots ....

Sitting here next to him, she wondered just what role her inherited wealth had played in influencing Justin. Would he have been attracted to her had she been just an ordinary Plain girl?

Then she recalled how their eyes had met on Christmas Day, how he had known, almost by instinct, that she was Laura's daughter. He was a good man, through and through, she told herself.

Before the lights were lowered and the orchestra director took the podium and raised his baton, she read the program and notes carefully, thrilled that there was a piece by J. S. Bach. His music soothed her wholly, and she contemplated her state in life--this present time of her life--con- tent to be wearing the satiny dress, delicate shoes, and glittering jewelry at her throat and on her wrist.

Sighing, she folded her hands over the program, wondering what lovely things the night might reveal. She didn't have to wait long. As the lights went down, Justin reached

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for her hand and caressed it during the first piece. Try as she might, the music got lost in her head somewhere; she could scarcely hear it for the beating of her heart.

John was waiting at the appointed spot in the road when Mary reined in Sugar, pulling the horse and carriage over to the shoulder. Instead of anticipating the secret rendezvous, she was dreading it. After thinking through Rebecca's harsh comments, she felt at odds with herself and with her and John's budding relationship. Truth be told, she'd just as soon have stayed home tonight, sitting under the gas lamp in the kitchen, cozy by the fire, reading.

But she was here as she'd said she would be, and by the looks of John's cheerful countenance, he was delighted that she was.

"I thought the day would never end," he said, helping her down out of the carriage. "I've missed ya so."

She nodded, keeping her chin up, so to speak, putting on a happy face for the bishop, who was kind enough to help get her settled in the straw-laden sleigh and wrapped up with the same furry lap robes as the night before.

The moon was the slightest bit rounder tonight, and John made note of it to her. "Such a shame the children aren't out enjoyin' the evening with us."

"How're they doin'?" she asked, glad for this topic instead of romance.

"Ah, gut.., right fine, they are. Eager for their old Daed to find 'em a mamma, I 'spect."

She grimaced at his words. Was that all she was to him-- someone to take care of his young?

Unable to think clearly, she felt herself stiffen, relieved that John hadn't felt at ease enough with her to slip his arm around her just yet.

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The silence between them was deafening, and she wished now she'd never gone to see Rebecca Lapp. What was she thinking? The woman was completely daft; at least it seemed so. For as much as the womenfolk had said she was improving, Mary knew better. She knew now firsthand that Katie's mamma had not totally recovered from the loss of her daughter. No, she was clearly suffering from deep grief--and worse. Senseless and absurd were the words that came to mind regarding Rebecca's harsh comments to her.

Shadows from the moon played tag with the horse- drawn sleigh as it sped over fields and down the glen, deep into the Hollow, past the rickety covered bridge at Weaver's Creek, where several open buggies--courting buggies the Englischers like to call them--were parked off the side of the road to accommodate smooching. Past ten or more farmhouses, all Old Order Amish, and she knew they were because not a single electrical wire ran from the road to the house.

"You're awful quiet," John remarked. "Somethin' bothering ya?"

She had no idea what to tell him. "Best co be silent if there's nothin' to say."

John pulled on the reins, halting the horse. He turned to her, wearing a concerned frown. "Mary... darling, what is it?"

Hearing her name coupled with the endearing term caused her to feel renewed compassion for him. She kept her eyes on her lap as she began. "If my shunned girlfriend returned.., what would happen to . . . you and me?"

He sighed. "Are ya wonderin' if I'm still in love with her?"

"Well, I'd hardly think so, not after last night." She was thinking of his kisses, his declarations of love. "It's just that, well.., folks talk, ya know. And maybe they're wonderin' if she did return and repent anytime soon, whether or not

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you'd rather have her for your wife."

"Nonsense," he exclaimed. "The woman's as disobedient as any I've known, and I have a strong feelin' she'll always be struggling with it, even if she does return and make things right."

It wasn't exactly what Mary wanted to hear. She'd longed to hear that John loved her ... not Katie. But he hadn't said that, not in so many words. It made her wonder if his choice in a wife had more to do with devotion to God and the church than it did with love.