Pennsylvania Patchwork (22 page)

CHAPTER FORTY-TWO

Esther pieced together, basted, and sewed Holly's blue dress at a breezy clip. All she needed to do was hem the skirt, a simple assignment. As she threaded a needle, she recalled the many articles of clothing she'd crafted for herself and her brothers when she was a young teen on this very Singer treadle machine, her feet working the pedal. Who needed an electric sewing machine? Who needed electric anything?

“Holly?” Mamm entered the sitting room, passing through the front hall from the Daadi Haus. “Is Holly ready to go on our treasure hunt?”

“To look for quilting scraps?”

“Yah.” Mamm stretched her arms. “They've got to be hiding somewhere.”

Esther was astounded Mamm had remembered and hoped her memory wouldn't relapse in twenty minutes.

“Holly went out for about an hour to see Beth's dog's new pups.” Esther held up her almost finished dress. “Like it?”

“You've done a fine job, Essie.”

“Thanks. I need to hem it, and I haven't sewed the apron yet. Could Holly borrow one from you until I do?”

“Mine will be too big for a slender
Maedel
like Holly.” Mamm patted her tummy, which seemed flatter. “I'll go up in the attic and see what I can find.”

“No, I can't let you. The stepladder's too steep.” Esther dreaded having to enter the dark and stuffy cavern, but said, “I'll do it, if you really think I'll find clothing.”

“You remember where the attic is?”

“Yes. At the top of the stairs and down a few yards.” A rectangle in the ceiling, a short length of twine to pull, and a stepladder would slide down. “Maybe we should ask Armin,” Esther said. Nathaniel could surely reach the string and lower the ladder, but no use wishing for him to appear.

“I don't want to wait that long,” Mamm said. “Let's be ready for Holly when she gets back. We might need to launder the apron.”

“I'm not exactly a teenager myself,” Esther said. “If I slip and fall, I might not get up again.”

“Pshaw. Why would you fall? You've been in the attic a hundred times.”

“That's when I was a girl. I'm in my fifties.”

“Sounds young to me.” Mamm grabbed hold of the banister and plodded up the stairs. “You coming?”

“Yes, wait up.” Esther followed closely on her heels in case Mamm tumbled backward. As they proceeded Esther ruminated over Mamm's hanging on to her clothing from her youth and her heart swelled with gladness. “Did ya really know I'd return?” Esther asked.

“Yah, I knew the Lord would answer my prayers when he was good and ready.” Mamm reached the second story, moved forward a few feet, and tilted her head back to survey the ceiling. “We'll need a chair, unless you can reach the pull.” Mamm pointed at the three-by-four-feet rectangle of wood in the ceiling, a short cord dangling from it.

Esther had never been tall enough to snag the string, meaning she'd need a chair. “Ach, how did I get myself into this?” But her mind was occupied and less tormented over Nathaniel or receiving the doll, which she'd pretty much decided was a fluke.

She fetched the wooden straight-backed chair from her room—the bedroom she'd slept in as a child. She eyed the chest her father had made for her decades ago, still abundant with gifts for her future wedding. She might give the contents to Holly should Nathaniel find his wife or change his mind about marrying Esther—for any reason.

She climbed onto the chair and felt it wobble. Pulling on the string and opening the attic door, time seemed to repeat itself, like rewinding thread on a sewing machine's bobbin, layer upon layer. When would Esther understand why she was so all-fired determined to leave this home as a teenager and never return? Pride had played a role, and bigheadedness. She'd been
grossfiehlich.

Her pastor back in Seattle promised her the blood of Jesus had paid for her sins, and Bishop Troyer agreed: her transgressions had been atoned. She didn't need to ask for forgiveness over and over like a never-ending loop-de-loop.

The wooden staircase—indeed more like a stepladder—descended to the floor at a less than forty-five-degree angle. Esther moved the chair aside and placed her foot on the first skinny step.

“Wait, take this.” Mamm handed her a flashlight.

Esther had to laugh at herself. Did she think a light bulb awaited her? “Thanks, Mamm.” Esther had never been afraid of heights, but a troubling sensation of impending disaster assailed her.

“Anything wrong?” Mamm asked.

“Nee.” Esther didn't want Mamm worrying; it might send her backsliding when her mood was so nicely elevated. “You stay there or sit on that chair.” Esther peered into the attic's dimness. The flashlight illuminated the sloped ceiling, and stacked cardboard boxes and trunks, casting eerie shadows into the bleak corners.

The dense air was woven with the aromas of dried cedar, mothballs, deteriorating fabric, and what could be an abandoned wasps' nest.

Using her forearms, she hoisted herself up and was able to stand erect. Dat, a tall man, had to hunch, as she recalled. She leaned over to speak to Mamm through the hole. “Shall I search in the boxes or trunks?”

“Try the trunks first.” A moment later Mamm's head appeared.

“What are you doing?” Esther said. “Please go back down.”

“Nee, I've come this far.” She clambered into the attic with what seemed to be great satisfaction.

Esther assured herself that eventually Holly would return to help Mamm down the ladder. But really, they needed a man's strong arms.

Mamm extracted a small flashlight from her apron pocket and shone the beam around the attic, with its sloped ceiling. “I never thought I'd be up here again.”

“Well, ya shouldn't be.”

“If I slip and break my neck it'll save the cost of surgery with Dr. Brewster.”

“No, the hospital bills will be even higher. Don't you dare fall, Mamm. I'll never forgive myself if you do.”

She cackled. “For that reason alone I'll be careful.” No sooner had the words floated out of her mouth than Mamm walked into a trunk and faltered, dropping her flashlight. Her hands reached out to steady herself on the wooden chest, almost waist-high. She picked up the flashlight and aimed it at the trunk. “Try looking in this one.”

Esther lifted the heavy lid; it fell back against the sloped ceiling. A cloud of dusty air floated out. She slid her hands into the trunk and felt layers of aged fabric, some soft as a day-old lamb. She extracted several items, all clothing from her youth. Mamm had told the truth; she'd hoped for another daughter. Esther's father's untimely demise had killed that dream.

“Dat's death was in part my fault,” Esther said, grateful her face was shaded in the darkness. “He wouldn't have been on the road that night if I hadn't left for California. I'd do anything to reverse time and undo my actions.”

“It was God's will. My Levi's time had come. “'Tis
unsinnich
—senseless—to rehash the past.” Mamm moved to Esther's side and pulled out a couple black aprons. “I admit I kept these for sentimental reasons too. I missed you so. I couldn't bear to part with your things.”

“Oh, Mamm—”

“Hush, don't spoil our treasure hunt. These aprons might fit Holly.” She held them out for Esther's viewing, then draped them over her forearm. “Let's keep looking. The scraps of fabric have got to be somewhere.” Inching along, her toe hit a low object and she faltered again—into Esther's arms, praise the Lord.

“Who would leave something there, where a person would stumble over it?” Esther picked up a metal container and noticed its small latch.

Mamm said, “Ach, I probably did, silly me.”

“What is it?” Esther asked.

“An old tin bread box.”

“I think I remember it from when I was a child.” Esther took the oblong metal container from her and was surprised by its weight, as if a loaf of bread were entombed within. “I'll bring it downstairs. We could use another bread box, but I hate to think what's inside.” With Mamm's flashlight illuminating it, Esther undid the latch and was staggered to see dozens of unstamped envelopes.

“That's where I put them,” Mamm said. “But how did they get up here?”

“The letters from Jeremiah Fisher?” Outrage inundated Esther, as if she'd sliced into a shoofly pie to find it made of mud. “Why didn't you send them to me?”

“Because Beatrice refused to put your last name on them. She said you weren't a Fisher. Essie, I confess I opened a couple and read them. I knew it was wrong of me, but I thought if my Esther reads these she'll never come home.”

“You had no right.” Yet Esther was reminded of her own lame excuse for not showing Mamm's many letters to Holly.

Esther rifled through them. Sure enough, only the name
Esther
was scrawled on the front of each envelope. “Never mind, Mamm, I understand you were trying to protect Holly and me.”

“Thank you, daughter. I knew you'd come home and I'd give you the letters.” She scratched her head. “Then I forgot about them. You want to read them now?”

“Not today.”

CHAPTER FORTY-THREE

I cuddled the border collie puppy and breathed in its honey-sweet aroma. I'd never held a newborn pup, its eyes still closed and its coat like velvet. It yawned and bobbed its head. “Looking for your mama?” I asked.

Missy stared up at me with wary brown eyes, but she stayed in the whelping box attending to the remaining five pups. Half the litter was male and half female; they were waking up hungry.

“It's okay,” Zach said to Missy, and stroked her forehead. “Holly won't hurt your baby girl.” He sat on a nearby chair, and I on the floor by the wooden whelping box Zach had built that resided in the TV room, off the kitchen.

“I'd better put you back,” I said, and gently returned her to Missy, who nuzzled and licked her off as the puppy wedged itself among its siblings and latched on to her next meal.

I thought about each puppy transitioning, growing incrementally, until it reached the size of its mother, whose girth had shrunk substantially since I'd seen her last. It occurred to me there was wisdom to be learned from her about patience and loyalty.

I felt warmth kindling in my chest, a stirring in my abdomen. I ached for a child of my own. At my age, I might be infertile, for all I knew. Zach told me he wanted children, but could I provide them? He'd also mentioned possibly adopting when he'd proposed weeks ago.

I examined Zach's symmetrical features and wondered if he'd make a good dad. He was attentive to his mother—to a fault, in my opinion—and seemed to get along with his father. I'd assumed Zach would be an excellent parent, but in truth, I hardly ever saw him. Zach had always acted with kindness and understanding, but I'd also witnessed his antagonism toward Armin and Rascal. I wondered if he'd ever direct hostility at me. And really, if he wanted to marry me so much, why hadn't he spoken the three words I yearned to hear? That he loved me. Nor had we sat down with a calendar to set up a date. He must know it took more than twenty-four hours to plan a wedding.

“Found your favorite, Holly?” Beth said, strolling into the room from her kitchen, only yards away. She settled on the leather couch against the wall, situated across from a flat screen TV. A framed print of her husband holding up a whopper of a trout adorned the far wall.

“They're all precious,” I said, not meeting her gaze. Beth had greeted me cordially at the door a few minutes ago, but I felt on guard, suspicious of the woman who'd originally welcomed Mom and me with open arms, before Victoria's arrival.

“I don't know what I would have done if Zach hadn't been here this morning,” she said.

“Mother.” Zach lowered his brows. “Please.” From the tone of his voice I surmised they'd crossed words.

“Anyone want coffee?” Beth asked in a jovial voice.

Zach looked to me and I shook my head.

“No thanks,” he said.

“How about a cup of Sleepy Time tea, Holly?”

I remembered my pleasant hours sitting at Beth's kitchen table chatting as if I were an honored guest. I contemplated asking her why she'd made a sudden turnaround when she heard Zach and I were getting engaged. No, my life was already in enough disarray.

“No, thank you,” I said.

“Maybe when you come back next time.” Beth watched the slumbering puppies.

“I'd better get home,” I said, although I could have spent all afternoon with Missy and her brood.

“You're welcome to stay as long as you like,” Beth said. “Zach has work, but I'll take you home later if you need a ride.”

“Thanks, but I should go.” I hadn't mentioned my grandmother's appointment or her impending surgery to Beth. Zach hadn't brought up the subject either. He seemed to be taking his cues from me.

“How's everything at Anna's?” Beth asked me. I noticed she hadn't mentioned my mother; I wondered if the two had really made up.

“Fine.” I wouldn't reveal I'd agreed to dress Old Order Amish for a week and was going to attend church with my family this Sunday—even Zach didn't know. With Nathaniel, I hoped. And possibly Armin. I assumed he went to church on preaching Sundays—every other week.

“While you two are here is the perfect time for me to run to the grocery store,” Beth said. “Go ahead and leave when you need to. So far, Missy is the epitome of good mothers.”

Minutes later, I heard Beth jangle her keys and leave by the kitchen door. I was tempted to ask Zach if his father had in truth been absent this morning when Missy whelped her litter.

Zach pointed at the pup I'd been holding. “Is that little lass your favorite? You two seemed to be bonding.” The litter of six was almost identical in color, but that particular female had struck me as special, perhaps because her black and white markings were exactly like her mother's.

“You can name her. Someday, whichever one you pick will be ours.” His blue eyes scanned my face.

“To keep me company while you're working all the time?” I arched a brow.

He sat forward in the chair, rested his chin in his hands. “You're right. When patients call me I come running, probably more than I need to. I've turned into a workaholic like my father, something I swore I'd never do. Maybe I should think about hiring another veterinarian to man the clinic while I'm out treating livestock.”

I admired his dedication. He was the kind of veterinarian I'd hire, but he seemed to lack balance.

I watched Missy licking her pups. “When will their eyes open?”

“Usually between a week and ten days, and their hearing kicks in too.”

“They seem so helpless.”

“They are, but once they're up on their feet, watch out. They'll be tearing around helter-skelter and gnawing on the furniture. I'll build them a fenced area by the garage. My mother will have a full-time job on her hands.”

“Your mother, or you?”

“I already have a full-time job. I can't come over to babysit every day.”

My thoughts ricocheted back to Rascal. As soon as I got home I'd walk over to see if he'd returned. I prayed that he was lounging around Nathaniel's farm, or was in a safe haven. I might ask Zach to drop me off there, which could ruffle his feathers. Too bad, Armin was my friend, and I hoped some day, as Nathaniel's brother, he would be a relative. Was Armin serious about courting me or did he just enjoy competing with Zach? If history repeated itself, Armin might take off again. I wondered if he'd really attend Lynnea's wedding, a brash move, I'd think. But the Amish were so forgiving, Lynnea's future husband would probably welcome Armin. I admired the spirit of forgiveness and their allegiance to God's Word, family, and community.

I thought about my mother at home sewing me an Amish dress and felt a sprinkling of excitement. I was drawn to the Amish in so many ways. I could make my dad proud.

From what I'd gleaned, the Amish church dated back to the sixteenth-century Reformation in Europe, when the Anabaptist movement split into the Amish, Mennonites, and Brethren. Amish were the most conservative, emphasizing separation from the non-Amish world. Bottom line: it was the hardest to join. Other than Mommy Anna and Armin, no one had encouraged me to become a member. I wondered what Bishop Troyer would think if I told him I was considering it.

I felt like a willow branch in the wind. Mom would say I should seek God's guidance at every juncture in the road. Today, I should be praying for my mother. No one's future was more tenuous than hers. Except maybe Rascal's.

“You're awfully quiet,” Zach said to me.

“I'm thinking.”

“About what to name the puppy?”

“I'm worried about Nathaniel and about Rascal.” My life was like a puzzle, each piece needing to be jiggled into place. “Is there something you're not telling me about him?”

“You mean Rascal?” Tension grew around the corners of his eyes. “If you like, I could call the humane society and see if he's been picked up.”

“That would be great. Thanks.”

While he spoke on the phone, I watched Missy care for her pups—without going to motherhood school. Like the Amish, I thought. They learned everything they needed to know about farming and family at home.

I wondered if I'd be content following the strict rules of the Ordnung. Did contentment even matter when I rounded my bases and touched home plate at the end of my life? Mommy Anna and the bishop would tell me that obeying the Lord and spending eternity in heaven was all-important. How would I find God's best-choice plan for my life unless I gave my Amish week a 100 percent effort?