Pennsylvania Patchwork (13 page)

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

Esther prayed to the Lord that her Nathaniel would someday be truly hers. She recalled, decades ago, begging fervently on her knees, night after night, for Samuel's return, but the Father Almighty had chosen to ignore her pleas. Why, she would never understand. But it must have been God's will.

She admonished herself for circling back into a past that could never be changed. Until recently, she thought her future was evolving like a brilliant rainbow after a storm. Apparently another pipe dream.

She felt like the caged leopard at Seattle's Woodland Park Zoo, pacing back and forth. She needed a job, something to occupy herself. If only Holly hadn't brought flamboyantly colored yarn back with her from Seattle, Esther would start up another knitting project. Although, why create a garment—even a lap blanket—for a man who might never be her husband?

With Mamm napping in the Daadi Haus, Esther searched for a project to keep her hands occupied and her mind from spinning in on itself. Her casserole for the noon meal—a medley of ground beef, grated cheese, chicken, tomato soup, and wide noodles—was already in the oven, and the Jell-O and fruit salad solidifying. Whether they needed it or not, she'd shake out the rugs in the front hall, that's what she'd do. She opened the front door and dragged several rag rugs that were as old as she was onto the porch, and left the door open a crack.

Holly's cell phone vibrated in her pocket. Esther was so excited she reached for it, even though she was outside, in full view of everyone. The bishop, a minister, or the deacon could come by, but Esther dare not let the phone vibrate very long. She had no idea when its answering service would take over.

“Hello, this is Esther Fisher.” Out of habit, she recited her customary answer at the Amish Shoppe.

“Hi, it's Larry.” His voice was as clear as if he were parked across the road.

“Holly's out and left her phone with me in case I need it.” She wouldn't antagonize Larry by mentioning Holly was with Armin. After all, he hadn't asked.

“In that case I'll let you talk to Nathaniel. Don't want to get a ticket while I'm driving.”

Ach, he was driving and talking on the phone, Holly's stunt when she'd hit a cow with her rental car. Thank the good Lord the animal survived without injury. Esther prayed silently for Nathaniel's safety whilst on the road.

“Esther, are you there?” Nathaniel's voice sounded flimsy as a thread of sock-weight yarn, like he'd already lost the battle, a shadow of the man she loved.

She felt her throat close around her voice box, but forced out the words, “Yah, it's Esther. Where are you?”

“On a highway. I haven't paid much attention, just eating my burger and biding my time.”

She understood he couldn't speak what was on his heart with Larry sitting next to him.

“Is Larry driving very fast?”

“Ya. We're flyin' down the road like a rocket ship.”

She heard Larry laugh, then his muffled voice say, “I'm only going five miles above the speed limit. Tell her we stopped for early lunch at a drive-through and took the burgers and fries to go.”

“I heard that,” she said, envisioning Larry dipping French fries in ketchup with one hand while his other steered the wheel. She wished Nathaniel would ask Larry to slow down, but it would be difficult to tell a man how to drive when you couldn't drive yourself. Especially when he was chauffeuring you all that way. Still, she wished Nathaniel would make his thoughts known.

If she could fault her deceased husband, Samuel, for one personality flaw it was that he didn't stand up for himself enough.

She remembered her dat saying, “Too soon old. Too late smart.”

Anyway, if Samuel had stayed, he might have married Beth—

A buggy clip-clopped down the road in her direction. Esther pivoted toward the house so the occupants wouldn't see she was using a phone.

“I s'pose I'd better hang up,” Nathaniel said.

“Yah. I—” She heard a click, then a block of silence filled her eardrums before she could say good-bye. No matter. She had nothing else to tell him. Her letter to Chap sat in the mailbox, but Nathaniel didn't know about the correspondence, or the doll and cloth. She didn't wish to complicate his life; he had worries aplenty of his own.

She jammed the phone in a pocket and grabbed up a rag rug. She shook it over the railing as hard as she could. The breeze kicked up a cloud of dust and blew it into her face. A sneeze seized her, followed by another.

The phone vibrated again, and her heart skipped a beat. Nathaniel was calling her back to tell her he would find a way for them to be together no matter what.

“Hello?” The expectation in her voice made her blush.

“Hi, Esther, it's Zach.”

“Oh.” She wiped her nose with a Kleenex.

“Is Holly there?”

“No, but she should be back soon. It's almost time for the noon meal, not that anyone's paying attention to time.” Her day had stopped when Larry's car jetted away.

“Where is she?” he asked.

“On a buggy ride.” A truck clattered past.

“Who took her?”

“Well, now, Armin did.”

“For heaven's sake. She actually went with him?”

Esther hated being caught in the middle, but held tightly to her commitment to be honest. “He said he'd get her back around now, and knowing his appetite, I think he'll keep his word.”

“He's such a mooch, you're probably right.”

Again, the phone went dead. Esther was getting tired of being hung up on, but knew she'd keep answering it until Holly returned.

CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

I spotted Wolfie sitting stoically on the back stoop as if he hadn't watched Nathaniel's horse and Armin's dog wander away, when in fact he'd probably instigated a fight with Rascal and frightened Galahad.

Armin loped over to examine the broken tether, hanging from the hitching post.

Both Galahad and Rascal had vanished.

“I once owned an escape artist,” Jeremiah said. “Maybe Nathaniel's horse nibbled at the tether and undid it, then moseyed 'round to our vegetable garden.” He pointed to the side of the house and Armin jogged ahead.

“No sign of hoofprints in the dirt,” he said, when we caught up with him.

“Headed back to Nathaniel's barn?” Jeremiah said.

Armin slapped his thigh with his hat. “I surely hope so.”

I stared at Nathaniel's lifeless buggy. “Now what?” I asked Armin. A flush was creeping into his cheeks and turning his ears red.

“Looks like you two will need a ride home.” Jeremiah seemed amused, wrinkles cresting at the corners of his eyes. “I could lend you a horse, Armin. I've got a spunky standardbred gelding you could borrow.”

“Thanks,” Armin said, “and do ya have a saddle? Or I could ride bareback. Once I find their tracks, I might need to cut through a field.”

“I do have an old saddle. I'll find it and brush off the cobwebs.”

“Point out the horse and I'll fetch him,” Armin said.

“He's solid black—save a star on his forehead,” Jeremiah said, and went in the barn while Armin trekked out into the pasture.

Five minutes later Armin saddled and bridled the horse. He took hold of the reins, then positioned his foot in a stirrup and hoisted himself up onto the saddle.

“Sorry to leave you like this, Holly.” Armin adjusted the stirrups, lengthening them.

“Is it true horses always head for the barn?” I asked.

“I'm hoping that's what will happen.” He patted the horse's neck and spoke to him in Pennsylvania Dutch.

“Then doesn't it make better sense to take Nathaniel's buggy home?” I asked.

“No time.”

“Yah, you go ahead,” Jeremiah said to Armin. “Make sure that dog of yours is tied up before nightfall too. I'm betting a few farmers will have their shotguns loaded.”

“Hey, what about me?” I felt marooned. “Some buggy ride.”

“Sorry,” Armin said, “but the sooner I track Galahad down the better.”

“Before Nathaniel finds out?” I asked, then regretted my remark. Armin must have felt bad enough without my badgering him.

“I'll make sure Nathaniel's buggy gets home,” Jeremiah told him. “My grandsons will help us.”

“I can't thank you enough.” Armin jabbed the horse's sides with his heels, and the animal took off like a slingshot down the drive.

“Holly, I'll take you back to Anna's,” Jeremiah told me.

“Thanks, I'd appreciate it, if it's not too much trouble.”

“Nee, I'll ask your Uncle Matthew to hitch up our carriage. Like I said, my grandsons can bring Nathaniel's buggy to his house in a bit, or maybe in the morning.” He glanced at the buggy and shook his head. “Now, why don't ya come on in for Kaffi?”

I checked my watch—an item none of the Amish seemed to wear—and noticed it was almost time for lunch. I wished I'd borrowed Armin's cell phone to call Mom, but too late now. And I doubted Armin would use it in front of my grandfather.

“I can only stay a few minutes and then better get back home.” I wanted to see Matthew's wife, Rachel—my aunt, but only about five years my senior.

“Sure,” Jeremiah said, “we don't want Esther and Anna worrying about you.”

He must have picked up on my angst, because he said, “Don't ya worry, Holly.
Alles ist ganz gut—
all will be well.”

“Matthew,” he called, and my bearded uncle came out of the milk house wearing rubber boots, a work coat, and a hat. I studied Uncle Matthew's face as he strode toward us, and was struck by his resemblance to me: the bridge of his nose, the set of his eyes, his full lips. Too bad he'd never met my dad.

“Gut ta see you, Holly,” he said, then his gaze took in the dangling tether on the hitching post.

Jeremiah explained Galahad's getaway to Matthew, and asked him to hitch up his buggy. “Give me ten minutes,” Uncle Matthew said, smirking to Jeremiah as if they shared an inside joke.

“In the meantime, Holly, let's have Kaffi and Rachel's apple crisp,” Jeremiah said. As we approached the back stoop, the aromas of roasting apples, warm cinnamon, and baking dough wafted our way. Even Wolfie was too distracted by the scrumptious scents to snarl at me. He tried to follow us into the house, but my grandpa kneed him out of the way, thankfully. I still didn't trust that mongrel.

“Look who I have here,” Jeremiah said as he escorted me into the kitchen.

Rachel's lips blossomed into a smile. “
Kumm rei—
come in, Holly,” she said. “I'm ever so glad ta see you.” Her hands in hot mitts, she hugged me, then hurried to the stove, removed the apple crisp, and set it on a cooling rack. “Are ya staying for dinner?” she asked. Strands of her butterscotch-colored hair peeked out from beneath her traditional heart-shaped prayer cap.

“Thanks, but I only have time for coffee.” I scanned the large kitchen: grander than Mommy Anna's, with a bigger refrigerator, a double sink, and a sizeable counter. In the center of the room stood a rectangular table covered with green-and-white checkered oilcloth, ten chairs hemming its perimeter.

Rachel wore an amethyst-colored dress and dark apron. Seeing the fabric's smooth texture gave me a desire to ask her to lend me one. She'd be generous enough to do it. I appreciated her life on this fabulous farm with a loving husband and several children. Except Rachel must endure her mother-in-law's presence, I reminded myself.

My Grandma Beatrice swooped into the kitchen. “I see Wolfie caught a prowler lurking about.” Her arms folded across her flat chest. Even Mommy Anna had called Beatrice a
schtinker
, which couldn't be a compliment.

I tried to view my sudden arrival through her wire-rimmed Coke-bottle glasses. “Sorry to show up again without an invitation,” I said.

“Holly may stop by anytime,” Grandpa Jeremiah said.

“You're always welcome, Holly.” Rachel took off the mitts, set them beside the stove.

“At least she isn't trying to dress Amish,” Beatrice said. As she inspected me, her beady pupils seemed to shrink to dots.

“Please, have a seat,” Rachel said, and placed cups on the table. She brought a pitcher of milk from the modern-looking refrigerator. The stove appeared contemporary too; I figured all their appliances were generated by gas.

“What was that ruckus outside?” Grandma Beatrice's cement-gray hair was parted with severity, and her prayer cap strings were knotted under her pointed chin. “I heard a horse galloping by, and then another, like a bandit.”

Jeremiah tugged on his beard. “I lent Armin Midnight to catch up with Nathaniel's horse.”

“You let Armin use my favorite
Gaul
?”

“I thought you favored Ruby,” Rachel said, in a good-natured manner.

“I wouldn't lend Armin any horse,” Beatrice said. “He might sell it. Bartering is in his blood, and he's not to be trusted.” She glared at Jeremiah, who narrowed his eyes at her.

“Armin was giving me a much-appreciated buggy ride,” I said, hoping to defuse the conversation.

“Your Mudder let you go out with Armin?” Beatrice scowled. “He's a vagabond, a loose wheel who'll roll away any old time he pleases. He should be looking after Nathaniel's farm, not pussyfooting around the county when his Bruder is out of town.”

So they all knew Nathaniel was searching for his wife—and no doubt that my mother hoped to marry him. I clamped my lips together; I was not going to speak about Nathaniel and Mom in front of Beatrice. I wondered whether Beatrice had really forgiven Mom for stealing my father away.

I swigged down my coffee. “I really should be leaving,” I said.

“Aw, I wish you'd stay longer,” Rachel said. “She turns in early,” she whispered in my ear. “Come back after supper some evening.”

The floor looked squeaky clean, but Beatrice picked up a broom and commenced to sweep around the stove as if she'd like to whisk me out the back door.

“Thanks for having me,” I said to her, but she kept her gaze fastened to the linoleum flooring. If she'd made the slightest move, I might have kissed her cheek, but she quickened her sweeping, avoiding me.

Minutes later, Grandpa Jeremiah helped me into their gray carriage. He slapped the reins, and their reddish-chestnut mare pulled us at a leisurely trot.

“Is this buggy new?” I asked.

“No, but recently polished. And we keep it under cover at night.” His eyes twinkled. “You come over more and I'll teach you everything you need to know about driving a carriage. You want to try now? This mare is a pussycat. She'll obey you.”

“I suppose.” Anxiously, I scooted over to him and took the reins, adjusting my fingertips to the feel of them. I enjoyed a pleasant sensation traveling up my arms. After all the years of make-believe in the old buggy on the Amish Shoppe's front porch, I was driving a real one!

“Yah, that's the way,” he said.

All around me the world moved at half speed, but doubts about Zach, my fuzzy-thinking Mommy Anna, Nathaniel, and Galahad's whereabouts still somersaulted like acrobats at a circus in the back of my brain. No wonder I felt
verhoodled
, as Mommy Anna would say.

“Your father would be proud of you,” he said, garnering my attention.

“Then you do believe I'm your granddaughter?” I kept my vision fixed to the road for fear the horse would wander into oncoming traffic.

“Absolutely, I do.” He reached over and gave one rein a gentle tug, and the horse turned onto another road. “My Beatrice had such a difficult time getting pregnant, only the Lord took our Samuel from us. It must have been God's will, but she turned bitter.” The corners of his mouth tipped up. “As you know, we were blessed with two other children. And now we have you,
Grossdochder
. Beatrice will come around, just wait. You should see her with her other grandchildren. Sweet as chocolate-covered cherries.”

He had more faith in Beatrice than I did. I bet if I ever had children, she'd spurn them. Unless they were Amish.

“I don't blame her for harboring some resentment toward my mom,” I said.

“We must forgive others if we expect God to forgive us.” He adjusted the reins, covering my hands with his for a moment. “Says so in the Bible.”

I realized I didn't need to grip the reins as tightly as I was, and allowed my fingers to relax—a little. How cool was this? I was driving my grandfather's horse and buggy!

“Do you mind if I ask about my dad?” I said. I wanted to riddle him with questions, but didn't want to seem pushy.

“We don't talk about him much. But I wouldn't mind a few questions.”

“This might sound weird, but do you think he had a crush on Beth?”

“Ya mean Beth Fleming? I doubt it, although I do recall her coming by every so often. But I should tell you, it isn't our way for young people to speak about such matters. Sometimes parents are the last to know.”

“But you knew about my mother.”

“We suspected. And then the two of them hightailed it to New Holland one night and moved into an Englischer's basement. People reported seeing your mother working at a tourist-type restaurant up there. Then they left for California without a word.” He seemed to be having difficulty breathing and his hand moved to his chest.

“Are you okay?” I pulled on the reins, and the mare came to a halt.

“Yah.” He sniffed, wiped his nose with a handkerchief. “Truth is, for many years I was too hard on Samuel. We had just one son and such a large farm. I misused him, like he was one of my hired farmhands. If I had to do it all over again, I'd have treated him with kindness and patience.”

“But you're so nice.”

“I'm as flawed as any man, but I learned from my mistakes.”

“You seem perfect to me. I've always wanted a grandfather.”

“You should call me
Doddy
,
Holly.”

“Okay,
Doddy
Jeremiah.”

A car honked, and my grandpa steered the mare off to the side of the road to let the automobile pass us. He and I sat in silence for a moment as I repeated his words to myself. Mom had told me Dad's parents were too strict with him, meaning some of what she'd told me was true. Her assessment of Beatrice seemed to be right on. Still, my mother had no right to deprive me of Mommy Anna. And the gentleman sitting next to me was a gem.

I was determined to find out what happened to Jeremiah's letters to my mother, if they existed. Beth had once mentioned Jeremiah's writing to Samuel, but she would have been a teen at the time and that memory forty years old. Maybe Jeremiah had said he intended to write but hadn't actually followed through. And maybe she was lying to make my mother look bad.

Grandpa Jeremiah took the reins from me. “Any other questions?” he asked. “We're almost there.”

“Yes, one more.” For now, anyway. “Are you absolutely sure you wrote my mother letters?”

“Yah, I penned them myself for ten years or so. I've lost track.”

“And you gave them to your wife?”

He nodded, his beard moving down, then up. “She put them in an envelope and took them to Anna's house. I asked Beatrice to get Esther's address, but Beatrice said she didn't want it. And she told me visiting Anna was always pleasant.”

I imagined a mathematical problem gone awry: two plus one did not equal four. Someone was fibbing.