Leaving Lancaster (13 page)

CHAPTER TWENTY

Nathaniel's courting proposal was as unexpected as a UFO sighting.

“Did Mamm set you up to this?” Esther said, her hand moving to the base of her throat. Courting was like getting engaged—next step: marriage.

“No. At my age, I didn't think to ask her permission. But I could go do it right now if you like. And speak to Bishop Troyer.”

“Hold on. You and I hardly know each other, except when we were kids.”

“I remember you with fondness, though you only cared for Samuel.” He removed his hat. “I admired you from afar since first we met.”

“But I'm not Amish.”

“Like I was askin', are ya willing to join the church?”

“Then move here? Be your wife?” She felt dizzy headed, like Mamm swooning down the porch stairs.

“I know I'm comin' on fast.” He set his hat back on his head. “But I feared you'd leave town before I made my intentions known.”

“I don't know what to say.” Until a week ago, her life seemed relatively content, even if nearing its end, a snowball rolling down a slope, melting as it made its final journey to the bottom of the hill.

“Will ya at least give my proposal some thought?” He took her hand, his twice the size of hers, but gentle.

“Yes—I suppose.” How could she not?

His voice's steady cadence manifested honesty. Unless she'd misunderstood him. No, Nathaniel had offered to court and marry her. He wanted Esther to join the Amish church, to be followed by a wedding. As a favor to Mamm?

“I can't give you an answer tonight.” She reminded herself of the hasty mistakes she'd made as a young woman, the travesties they'd caused. Esther dare not commit another.
Es Sclimmscht
vun Narre
—the worst of fools—Mamm and Dat had no doubt called her. Court Nathaniel, and in doing so, possibly compete with Esther's own daughter? Holly had a crush on him, Esther was pretty sure of it—even if her daughter's whims were temporary. If Esther showed an inkling of interest in him, Holly would never speak to her again.

She tried to envision Holly's living here, riding a buggy into town, dressed Plain every day. But she couldn't picture it; Holly was a modern woman in every sense. Yet her daughter might be so discouraged after losing her job she'd wish to stay longer.

An owl hooted, and Esther's mind explored another avenue. What about herself? Only a couple days ago, she'd been positive she'd never consider moving back to Lancaster County. But the beauty of the area wowed her, its pristine farms, the men working the fields with draft horses and mules, gathering corn and hay for the upcoming winter. She'd convinced herself she hadn't missed Pennsylvania's frigid weather in January and February or the sweltering summer days. Seattle's temperatures remained mild. The seasons melded into one another.

Last December Holly had complained she wanted a dusting of snow on Christmas but didn't get her wish. On Christmas Eve Esther had caught herself reminiscing about snowflakes feathering to the ground and her riding in the family's sleigh, then ice-skating on a frozen pond. And in July and August she'd occasionally longed for kick-off-your-shoes blistering hot summer days.

Esther was avoiding a monumental issue: joining the Amish church, the last notion she'd have considered an hour ago. If she became a member, she'd have to submit to the bishop's and her preacher brother Isaac's decisions. Unless Isaac moved to Montana, and she and Nathaniel remained here. Would Samuel's parents block her membership? Would the bishop know of her devious past? Certainly she would have to publically repent in front of the whole community. On her knees.

She and Nathaniel stood, their eyes locked, until she looked away. She flicked on her flashlight, then turned it off again, wanting to hide in the darkness. She got an idiotic impulse to hug him, if for nothing more than to show gratitude for his compliment that he found her a marital prospect. For the first time in what seemed forever, she longed to be held in a man's arms. Not just any man's. Nathaniel's. Was it possible for the seed of love to sprout so quickly?

“There's a lot you don't know about me,” she said.

“That goes for me, too. Thank the Lord, he forgives us our transgressions.”

She bet Nathaniel held himself to a higher standard than her own. What could he possibly have to regret? Perhaps a harsh word to his daughters.

Esther and Nathaniel reached the phone shanty, a one-windowed, weather-beaten shack set well apart from the farmhouses, inconspicuously tucked amid bushes and shielded by a tree.

“Nathaniel—what you're asking—are you serious?” She bet many a single woman had her eyes set on him.

“Esther, I'm serious as can be. It's past time I remarry.”

“This is so sudden.” Her thoughts whirled like a windmill on a blustery day, spinning too quickly for her sight to pin down one blade.

She felt like turning on her heels and running away. “I'll be fine. You can go,” she said.

“Are ya sure? I don't like leavin' ya alone.”

“I can find my way home.
Gut Nacht.
”—Good night.

“Gut Nacht,”
he said.

In the phone shanty, Esther picked up the receiver, placed the call, then heard Dori's cheerful voice. “Good afternoon, the Amish Shoppe.”

Nathaniel receded into the woods toward his house. He dimmed his flashlight, but she heard his footsteps, twigs cracking under his boots.

Had a hummingbird invaded her heart? She missed him, already.

“Ich bedank mich,” she called after him.

“Is that you, Esther?” Dori asked. “How's it going?”

“Fine—as well as can be expected.” Esther was dying to tell Dori what had transpired between her and Nathaniel. A sounding board is what she needed, but she dare not mention it. By now he might already have qualms about his spontaneous suggestion and be wondering what ever got into him.

It occurred to her Nathaniel could have been drinking. No, he wasn't
gsoffe
—drunk. She hadn't smelled liquor on his breath and doubted he drank alcohol.

“How are you getting on?” Esther said. “Any problems?”

“Didn't Holly relay my message? She called a couple hours ago. I'm having the time of my life. I told Jim I wish he'd built this store for me instead of you. Not that I had your vision or ability, or knew one thing about the Amish. But now that our kids are gone and my days are free, I love working again. And Jim's planning to retire at the end of the year.”

“You've been great, Dori. I can't thank you enough. But Christmas is around the bend. I need more merchandise in place by Thanksgiving.”

“Don't you dare hurry home on my account, girlfriend. I've never had so much fun. Why not buy merchandise there and have it shipped home? I mean, you are in the heart of Lancaster County.”

“How do you know so much about it?”

“Reading the brochures. And I got online and checked out a couple books from the library on the Amish. Couldn't you go to market or vendors, select merchandise, and send it here? You'd be the middleman and save on commission.”

Esther had to tell her friend the truth. She hushed her voice to just above a whisper. “I'm short on funds. I hope to take out a loan when we get home.”

“That's where my plan steps into action. How would you like a business partner? You and I get along so well, and you'd still call the shots. We could make it a fifty-one, forty-nine percent partnership, if you like.”

“What if it doesn't pan out? What if working together ruins our friendship?” But on the other hand, a partnership would open a world of possibilities. “Where would Holly and I live?”

“Exactly where you do now, for as long as you like. But face it, that beautiful daughter of yours is going to fall in love and get married one of these days.”

“Maybe sooner than later.”

“What was that?” Dori's alto voice rose in pitch. “Holly's found herself a sweetie in one day?”

“Possibly.”

“I don't believe it. The Holly I know doesn't dive into relationships.”

“You're right, she's overly cautious or she'd be married by now.” Esther pressed the phone to her ear. “But you'd barely recognize her if you saw her today.”

“She's dyed her hair black and gone Gothic?”

“No. I'll explain when we get home.”

“Holly told me she's changing the airline tickets to open-ended,” Dori said. “Meaning you don't need to rush back.”

“Without consulting me first? She's gone too far.” Treating Esther as though she were a child.

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

I returned my laptop to Beth's guestroom. Back in the kitchen, I said good-bye to Zach, who got to his feet. Did he think I looked bizarre in my Amish attire? I didn't know what to make of him and figured my appraisal went both ways. We couldn't be more different, except we both liked Beth. I had to admit I was envious of their compatible relationship—the flipside of Mom's and mine since she'd shown me the shoebox of Mommy Anna's letters.

At the door, Beth kissed my cheek. “Don't make yourself a stranger,” she said. “Hope to see you soon.”

“Thanks, I look forward to it.”

“Let me walk you to your car,” Zach said, helping me with my jacket.

“No, thank you, I'm fine.” Stepping outside, the chill evening breeze traveled up my legs and goose bumps erupted on my calves. The sky was as black as soot. The air hung heavy with silence. With only a quarter moon, the stars twinkled vibrantly, not like in the city, where streetlamps and porch lights competed for my eyes' attention. I stood for a moment as my pupils dilated, opening themselves to embrace the heavens, the opposite of my hazy thoughts.

Like the old two-pan balance scale we kept in the shop window for display, my mind weighed Beth and my mother's relationship. Had Mom truly forgotten Beth? Back in Seattle I'd wondered if Mom suffered from memory problems. Maybe I'd been right. How did Beth's telephone number get in Mom's purse? Grandma Anna must have sent it to her.

Zach stepped outside with me. “My mother would never forgive me for sending you off into the night by yourself.”

Aha, his gentlemanly manners were Beth's idea.

“I was serious about that job offer,” he said. “I could run you by my office right now. It's not far away.”

“I have no experience with animals or any idea how long I'll be here.”

He reached over and touched my arm. “Hey, did you and I get off on the wrong foot?”

“Not at all.” I ducked into the rental. “Thanks for the job offer.” Which I figured was Beth's idea too.

Driving to the farmhouse, I recognized Mom striding on the dirt path at the side of the road hustling in my direction. She wore a jacket and scarf I'd seen on Greta and was carrying a flashlight.

I stopped at the front of the house and got out. When she noticed me, her hand jerked and she dropped the flashlight. “
Dabbish
fingers,” she said—I guessed calling herself all thumbs. I'd noticed, bit by bit, she was using the language of her youth.

“Where have you been?” I asked.

“Using the phone shanty.” She scooped up the light and aimed it at my face. “Why did you call Dori?” Her words came out an accusing blast.

“Hey, stop that.” Squinting, I blocked the blinding flashlight beam with my hand until she switched it off. “I called Dori because I'm the one with the cell phone, which you could have used if you'd asked. You're the only person I know, in Seattle, anyway, who refuses to own one.”

A dim gas lamp from the house illuminated her face. She hurled me a fierce look. “What right did you have to contact her?”

“I can't call my own home?”

“But you didn't tell me.” Mom's cheeks appeared splotched; her breath was staggered. I wondered if she had been running away from something or had heard a spooky noise in the woods. I didn't appreciate her tone of voice.

“I'm a grown woman who lives above the Amish Shoppe too,” I said. “One of my friends could have stopped by.” Unlikely. “Or my old boss could have called.” Even more unlikely. “Why are you so edgy?”

Two cars and then a covered buggy passed by. Ooh, I loved that clip-clop-clip-clop sound.

My mother craned her neck to search into the buggy as if expecting to recognize the driver, then turned back to me. “I was dumbfounded when Dori announced she wants to be my business partner. Did she tell you that?”

“No, but I think it's a terrific idea. Wouldn't having a partner like Dori, your best friend, be fun for you? Not to mention the financial benefits—let's face it, we're low on cash.”

With her free hand, she readjusted the scarf to cover her ears. “I don't know anything, anymore.”

“That sounds ominous. I've never seen you so jumpy. Did Dori mention I changed our airline tickets?”

“What right do you have to make these decisions without consulting me first?” She flicked the light back on and shined it into the trees, casting ghoulish shadows.

“I didn't think you'd mind,” I said. “You can't desert your mother twice, can you?” I considered telling Mom about Beth's garage apartment and her offer to rent it. No, Beth was right: My grandmother wouldn't stay behind when her sons and daughter left.

“From what I've seen, Mommy Anna's too weak to travel,” I said. I wondered how the family would manage the journey without U-Haul trucks. Would they hire professional movers? “She can barely get around. The first few months they'll be too busy to look after her properly.”

“My brothers may purchase a large spread with houses and barns in good shape.” She glanced down the road in the direction of Nathaniel's farm.

“Even so, I bet the men will be erecting fences, repairing roofs, and buying livestock, frantic before the first snowstorm, if it hasn't hit already. I've heard Montana winters can be brutal.”

“It gets cold around here, too.” She shivered for effect. “The womenfolk will look after your grandmother.”

“Womenfolk? I've never heard you use that term in my life,” I said. “My aunts will be chasing after their younger children and busy enrolling the older ones in school.”

“Unless they can find a vacant school for sale or settle near another Amish district, they'll build their own. Remember, Amish only go through the eighth grade.” Her whole demeanor—her shoulders, neck, and arms—drooped like a rag doll. “I begged my parents to let me go to high school.”

“They wouldn't let you? I assumed you'd dropped out.”

She shook her head, her chin lowered. Another covered buggy rolled by. Again, Mom searched it with what looked like anticipation—or dread.

“Growing up, I read aloud to my brothers,” she said. “And any other book I could lay my hands on.”

“Like someone's diary?” I wondered if it belonged to Mommy Anna. “I saw you looking through one earlier. Up in your old bedroom.”

“Ach. In my haste I went off and left mine. What a
Dummkopf
. My mamm must have been furious, because surely she showed it to Dat, who would have punished me.”

She moved toward the front porch and sat on the second step, her elbows on her knees. “
Simbel mir
. I'd detailed my dreams of going to college and studying everything from economics to music.”

“You would have been punished for dreaming big?”

“Yah, I'd wanted to learn to play the harp and had written in my diary about asking Samuel to build me one.”

“Your parents would have prevented him?”

“For sure. Except for harmonicas, musical instruments weren't allowed.”

Wondering if she was being straight with me, my mind sifted through a hodgepodge of emotions, including sympathy and compassion. I wanted to believe her.

“Mamm would never stand up to my dat,” she said.

In a flash, my sympathy for her dissolved. Her complaining about my deceased grandfather—Mommy Anna's husband, Levi—spiked into my ribs like a rusty nail. “How can you speak badly about your father?” I said. “Maybe he wasn't perfect, but at least you had one, more than I can say for myself.”

“Daughter, I'd give up anything to change the past.” She stood and reached her arms out to hug me. “You're right, I shouldn't speak ill of the dead, especially my own dat.” She let out a throaty sob. “My brain's all addled.”

She held me tighter, making me feel trapped in a straitjacket. Several inches taller than I was, Mom could almost rest her chin on my forehead.

“Ouch, you're pricking me.” I wriggled out of her grasp. “I'll ask Greta how to put the pins in properly because, who knows, I might wear this dress again sometime.”

Mom grimaced, but I ignored her sour expression.

“I'm going inside,” I said, moving past her. “I'm hungry.”

“Dinner should be ready by now. Isaac's probably still outside, not that he'd help with cooking preparations.”

“What is it with you?” I spun around. “You've got a complaint about everyone in your family.”

“Well, now, men don't help in the kitchen. Housework is for women. That's a fact. And in Isaac's defense, he's a preacher. Besides milking the cows twice a day and his many farm duties, people flock to him seeking advice.”

“He does seem awfully serious.” Disgruntled was more like it, but I wouldn't fan the flames of my mother's negative attitudes. I'd always wished for siblings. She had five and didn't even appreciate them.

“I'm thinkin' our being here doesn't help my brother's mood.” She gave my apron a tug. “I've got to tell you, seeing you dressed that way might upset him. Please change back into your city clothes.”

“No, Mommy Anna likes the dress.” With Mom on my case, I didn't feel like being civil. “I might even part my hair down the middle and wear a prayer cap. Did I tell you, I've thought of growing my hair out? It would save a bundle at the hairdresser.”

“Holly, please don't antagonize Isaac or give my mamm false hope. Or get duped into a lifestyle you know nothing about.”

“How dare you, after conning me into your make-believe world? Since we're staying longer, I'll have time to meet my other grandparents. The ones you claim disowned you. Did you lie about them, too?

“No, I forbid you to see them.”

“Don't tell me what to do.” My hands balled into fists. “Now that I've met my aunts and their kids and my sweet grandmother, I want to meet Dad's parents.”

I recalled Nathaniel and the buggy ride, traveling past immaculate farms and inhaling the aroma of harvested corn. “I wished I'd let Nathaniel take me to the Fishers' this afternoon,” I said.

Her twisted expression told me she was appalled. Or was she afraid?