Heritage of Lancaster County 03 The Reckoning (16 page)

Still, she was more than anxious to have some word from Mary... or anyone else back home, for that matter.

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Katherine's quilting class met again on Wednesday evening. She was excited to see the women picking up speed with the placement of pieces and working with the tic-tac-toe shading pattern in general.

"It's like following a recipe," Natalie Judah remarked, looking pert in her kelly green pants outfit. "So I guess anyone can learn to quilt, right?"

Rosie and Leoma exchanged glances, shrugging. "Speak for yourself," Rosie said, laughing.

The other women studied the copies of Katherine's sketches of what the finished Ninepatch should look like.

Later she showed them the beautiful Country Songbird pattern. "I love to make this one," she said, pointing out the striking redbird appliqu6s interspersed with flowing vines and graceful green leaves throughout.

"It looks very difficult," Ada remarked. "Can we really learn to make it, too?"

"If we work together as well as we have been, I don't see why not," Katherine replied.

"A challenge, to be sure," said Leoma.

The women were nodding in agreement.

"How much would a quilt like that sell for?" Elizabeth

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asked, sitting across the frame from Katherine.

"Oh, probably over a thousand dollars for a queen size, at a store catering to tourists. If you knew where to go--to a private Amish residence, for instance--you'd only pay about five hundred dollars."

They talked about what to do with the Ninepatch quilt the seven of them were already in the process of making. "If we ever finish it," Natalie said with a grin.

"Maybe we could sell it to raise money for the hospice," Katherine suggested.

Missy, Elizabeth, and Natalie immediately decided that was a good idea. Leoma, Rosie, and Ada didn't seem to mind either way. "We're just thrilled to have the opportunity to learn firsthand from someone who knows what she's doing," Ada said, acknowledging Katherine.

"Yes, thanks for being Amish," Missy teased, offering a smile.

Katherine didn't quite know how to respond. Truth be told, if Missy, or any of the other women gathered here, had the slightest idea what she'd experienced for having been an unyielding Plain woman, maybe they woulcbn't be so quick to jump to conclusions. But, of course, they couldn't poso sibly know. They had no way of understanding the rigid, nearly unattainable, expectations placed on one growing up in a cloistered society. So she said nothing.

"What made you leave your people?" asked Elizabeth. Katherine noticed Natalie's concerned look but took the question in stride. "I wanted to find my birth mother, Laura Mayfield-Bennett. My search brought me here to Canan- daigua and this mansion."

Several of the ladies looked surprised. "So you were adopted by the Amish?" asked Elizabeth.

"Yes, as an infant, but I wasn't told until just last year." She was beginning to feel uncomfortable about exposing her past.

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"Oh . . . I know just how you must feel," Ada offered. "One of my cousins recently found out she was adopted. She's in her late forties."

"Why would parents keep something like that from their child?" Missy asked, frowning as she looked across the frame at Ada.

Ada shook her head. "In the case of my cousin, she never felt connected to her family. I guess, from what she says, she

always sensed that she didn't really belorrg."

Didn't belong...

Katherine wondered if her quilting class was turning into the type of therapy sessions she'd recently read about in the newspaper. Was this how English folk aired their pent-up emotions?

Natalie, being the professional she was, must've picked up on Katherine's mood. Because before you could say Geilssch wanz--horsetail--she had steered the conversation away from adoption to the nasty weather and news of another storm front heading their way.

In more ways than one, Katherine was mighty glad the nurse had joined the group.

When Daniel arrived home after putting in another long day at work, it was coming on toward twilight, and the city lights were beginning to twinkle up and down his street.

Sorting through the mail, he scrutinized each return address and the handwriting as well, hoping for a reply from Katie. But, as had been the case each day, nothing had come from Canandaigua. If he'd been honest with himself, he might're realized that Katherine Mayfield was not about to write a letter back to him. He was simply not going to hear a word from the woman he'd once called his sweetheart girl. His boss, Owen Hess, and his wife must have observed

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his pensive mood the last few times they were together. Owen had gone so far as to invite him to their home for dinner, talking of including Ruth Stine, if Dan would agree to a semi-blind date.

Ruth was a year younger than Dan. A devoted Christian, she believed in waiting for God's choice in a mate. She had literally given up on the idea of dating, and Dan couldn't blame her for that. The social scene in some of the churches tended to lean more toward worldly, selfish motives. The Mennonite way taught that a woman, no matter her age, was to abide under the protection of her father's roofphysically live in the house of her parents--until such time as God brought along a life mate of His choosing.

Ruth was trusting the Lord for His will in the matter, and Dan was aware of it. Not only was she devout in her faith,

she was a beautiful woman of humility and grace. "Thanks for thinking of me," he'd told Owen.

"Pray about coming, why don't you?" his boss replied. Dan had prayed, though not in regard to developing a friendship with Ruth. He'd fasted and prayed for Katie. And because his affections were still very strong for her, he felt it unwise to accept Owen's kind invitation.

As far as he knew, Katie had never come to faith in Jesus as Savior and Lord. He'd inquired of the Wise Woman about Katie's beliefs, but Ella Mae seemed hesitant to say for sure, one way or the other. The assurance of salvation issue was a touchy one. He knew this to be true, because he'd been brought up to believe that such doctrine was a disruption to the community. "It is a manifestation of conceit, not humility," his father had said when first they'd discussed it years back.

Dan had tried repeatedly to show his father the passages of Scripture stating the truth of the gospel, that Christ had come to bring salvation.., eternal life. But Dan's words had fallen on deaf ears.

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Tired and hungry, he wandered out to the kitchen and warmed up some leftovers. He would not permit his mind to dwell on the fact that Katie apparently had not felt inclined to reply to his letter. He'd waited five long years to approach her. She was entitled to take her time about responding.

Snow was falling gently as the People made their way to the Preaching service over at David and Mattie Beiler's house on Sunday. Mary sat in the back of the enclosed carriage with Mammi Ruth, while Dat and Mam sat in front.

The thought crossed her mind that she could easily spill the beans and let them in on what they were going to hear from the bishop about Katie Lapp, when the adults met for a membership meeting after Preachin'. But she held her tongue and did the right thing--kept all of it to herself.

She was overjoyed that John had been mindful of her request, and she figured he loved her an awful lot because of it.

The membership meeting didn't last very long, especially once the People realized how adamant John was. Mary, too, could see it all so clearly--the look on his face, the sound of his voice, the hushed awe surrounding the moment.

It was his apology that came as a surprise.

"I stand before you today to ask your forgiveness for the hasty and indignant way I dealt with Katie Lapp's shunning. It was an unjust thing I did, and I pray that none of you will follow my example in this," he said, standing before the membership.

Mary felt her burden lift as she sat on the hard bench next to her mother. She listened attentively as Bishop John explained that the shunning itself was to be kept in force.

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"As stated in the Scripture, we will not keep company with such a sinner, no, not eat with such a one." Still, he was lifting the worst part.

Rebecca's face radiated pure joy, and Mary couldn't help but notice how the dear woman sat just a bit taller than before. Glory be! They could communicate with Katie!

Mary wondered if Katie's mamma would ever forgive her for agreeing to marry the bishop. Whatever time it took, whatever words were required, she'd see to it that there were no hard feelings festering between them.

If Katie ever did come back and repent, Mary knew she would wholeheartedly welcome her friend--without reservation, encouraging Rebecca to think wonderful-gut thoughts about the possibility of Katie getting married, no matter what age she might be at the time. 'Course, there was always Daniel, that is if he'd been able to locate her. But Mary wasn't about to hold her breath for two shunned young people finding the courage to confess. Usually, the way it worked, only one might be willing--at least, that's how it had been in a good many cases over the years.

As Mary sat there, she noticed that Samhel Lapp's eyes were moist, and his cheeks twitched with emotion. She was careful not to stare, even though a large group of men sat on the opposite side of the house, and it was next to impossible not to observe his facial expressions.

The first thing Mary wanted to do after the common meal and the visiting and after they all left for home was to write Katie a letter. She felt like a young girl again, just thinking about being allowed to correspond freely with her bosom buddy. Sure, she'd offer words of spiritual assistance, but she'd be sharing other things, too. Plenty of things.

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Sunday, March 15

My dearest friend,

l have the most wonderful news for you. The bishop has lifted the Ban a little. The People are allowed to communicate with you! I'm mighty happy about it, because I've wondered how to let you know that I got your letter (the one Mrs. Rosie Taylor was so kind to write me). Thank you, Katie. It meant ever so much to me for you to be so cautious that way.

Rebecca and I had a nice chat last Sunday afternoon-- one week ago today it was--and her eyes lit up when she heard that you'd asked about her. Of course, you wouldn't have any way of knowing what your poor mamma's been through since you left. Even Bishop John went to see her to try to help her, so depressed she was. But now, honestly, I think I see a change coming. I wouldn't be a bit surprised if Rebecca wrote to you sometime soon.

We all believe that in time you'll see the error of your ways and rejoin your Amish family here in Hickory Hollow. Until then, I remain your faithful friend,

Mary Stoltzfus

She took time to read what she'd written, second-guessing herself about not having told a speck of news regarding her romance with Bishop John. The more she pondered the letter, the more she supposed that news was not the best thing to be writing just yet. She could only hope that Rebecca wouldn't go and let the cat out of the bag.

As for informing Katie that Dan was alive, well, she'd thought long and hard about trying to explain the mighty strange story in a letter--as confusing as it would sound to Katie--but she chose not to. Chances were, Dan had already located his beloved by now.

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Mattie Beiler had made some hot tea, the mint kind her mother always loved. "Here now, this oughta get ya warmed up," she said, setting the cup and saucer in front of Ella Mae.

"Jah, somethin' oughta." The old woman leaned over the table to sip her tea, but her hands were shaking. "Goodness' sakes, what'sa matter with me?"

Mattie took the teacup from her and set it down on the table. "Here, let me help ya, Mam." Then taking a good hard look at her, Mattie asked, "Have ya been feelin' poorly all day, Mam?"

"Ever since after Preachin,' I guess." "That long? During the meal, too?" "Jab."

She wasn't surprised that not a single complaint had come from Ella Mae. The woman was a stoic when it came to physical ailments, of which there were very few for her advanced age.

Ella Mae began to shake her head back and forth, her eyes blinking fast. "Aw; probably nothin' to worry about much." More sipping, then she tried to add some honey to the hot liquid, but when it came to stirrhg the tea, the spoon jiggled about in her gnarled hand.

Mattie sat down at the table, noting that her Mam didn't seem quite as alert as usual. "Would ya like to lie down a bit?"

Ella Mae looked at her, eyes smooth and shiny--almost glassy. "M-maybe s-so," she mumbled, her words coming thick.

"Mamma?" She leaned over next to the white-haired woman, touching her hand. It felt damp to the touch and Ella Mae's breathing seemed irregular, as if she had to pant for breath.

"O-oh" came an uncontrolled sound, deep and frightening. And Ella Mae slumped over, her body falling forward on the tabletop.

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Mattie ran to the back door. "Something's wrong with Mamma! Come quick!" she called to David, who was busy outside, folding up long benches from the Preaching service and putting them back in the bench wagon with several other men.

Her husband hurried inside, going over to lift Ella Mae out of her chair. "Don'tcha worry none, Mam," she heard him saying as he carried the Wise Woman out of the kitchen to the Dawdi Haus adjoining theirs.

Mattie followed close behind, fretting that her mamma was going to die of a stroke. Right here in the house where, not but a few hours before, they'd had a right-gut Preachin'. Where their bishop had come clean with the most startling personal confession she'd ever heard; all that business of lifting part of the Ban from Katie Lapp and whatnot all.

Ella Mae continued making that horrifying low-pitched groan. It came right out of the depth of her being. A painful, treacherous sound.

Mattie had seen enough of this sort of thing to know what was happening. Too many elderly aunts and uncles had ended up this way. And now her mamma.

The thought crossed her mind to ride for a telephone-- to one of her Mennonite neighbors. Such times as this, a phone would come in mighty handy. But her mother had repeatedly expressed her desire that when the tire came, she did not want to be sent to some English hospital, wired up to contraptions to keep her heart beating against its will. "I'd rather die in my own bed," she'd always said.