Secret, The (26 page)
Surely her always-sympathetic grandmother would understand her unease over what to do about her engagement. Grace had welcomed Dawdi and Mammi’s presence since they’d moved into her father’s three-story farmhouse several years ago. And even though Mamma and Mammi Adah were apparently on edge much of the time, Grace’s seventy-year-old grandmother was ever ready to help. Mostly, though, she stayed busy taking care of Dawdi Jakob, who’d slowed down considerably in recent years. Rarely did they share meals with the rest of the family, other than birthdays and holidays, and the arrangement seemed to suit Dat and Mamma just fine.
Grace moved silently through the lawn and up the few steps to Dawdi’s back door, letting herself in. She saw that while a gas lamp remained lit, no one was nearby in either the kitchen or the wide front room, where Dawdi and Mammi liked to sit and talk and read after supper.
She noticed her grandfather’s big German Biewel on the sofa, as well as Mammi Adah’s tatting hook and a handkerchief in the process of being finished. Calling softly, she assumed Mammi had failed to outen the light, and she was moving to do so when a letter sticking out of the Bible caught her eye. She glanced at it and saw it was addressed to Mrs. Adah Esh and Miss Lettie Esh, at a street somewhere in Kidron, Ohio.
Opening the Bible, she peered more closely at the envelope, recognizing now that it was a steadier version of her grandfather’s writing. The return address was her grandparents’ former home on Weavertown Road, where they’d resided prior to moving here.
Curious, she tried to see the postmark but could not make it out. Hearing someone on the steps, she quickly pushed the letter back inside the Bible and closed it, then hurried out to the hall.
“Well, Grace . . . it’s you. I thought I heard someone.” Mammi Adah looked tired, her hair flowing like silk all around her, clear to her knees. “You’re gettin’ in a bit early from a date, jah?” Mammi glanced at her.
Grace nodded. “I ought to just head off to bed.”
“But you’re here now. . . .” Mammi said. “Care to sit awhile?”
“Well, it
is
late . . . ’specially for you.”
Mammi shook her head, eyes softening. “Never too late for my Gracie.”
She could not resist, so she sat in Dawdi’s upholstered chair while Mammi got settled on the small sofa, next to the Bible with its odd letter. She glanced at the Good Book, wishing she could get up the nerve to ask Mammi Adah about the letter inside. The strange Ohio address had filled her with questions, yet the peculiar way Mammi had acted about Grace’s idea to search for her mother made her hesitant to ask. Besides, she had a more pressing matter on her mind tonight.
“Have you ever done something you wished you hadn’t?” Grace asked.
Her grandmother’s smile faded and she picked up her tatting. “I daresay we all do such things—ofttimes when we’re young—and even after we’re all grown up, too.”
“Things that might hurt another, even though we don’t mean to?”
Mammi nodded. “Why do you ask?”
Grace truly wanted to preserve something of Henry’s and her privacy, but she also was anxious for Mammi Adah’s advice. “Can you keep a secret?”
Mammi nodded. “You have my word, dear.”
“Well, even though my beau doesn’t agree, I wonder if we’re doin’ the right thing by goin’ ahead with our wedding this fall.”
Mammi smiled. “So this must be the news you wanted to share with your Mamma.”
“Jah, ’cept now . . . well, bein’ engaged doesn’t feel quite right . . . with Mamma gone.”
“I see why you might feel thataway.”
After a moment, Grace said quietly, “I’m not all that sure ’bout things in general, truth be told.”
“About marriage?”
Nodding, Grace recalled how she’d felt when Henry had offered his hand tonight, when she was sitting on the swing in their old school yard. There were times when she believed she had done the right thing by saying yes to his proposal. But lately so many doubts had begun to surface—beginning the night of Mamma’s talk with her about Henry’s reserved nature.
The night of my birthday . . . before Henry came to propose.
“Well, I’ll be the first to say ’tis a challenge,” Mammi said. “There’s nothin’ easy ’bout puttin’ two people under one roof as husband and wife, tryin’ to make heads ’n’ tails out of living together and raising a family.”
Grace considered the blunt words and wondered about her grandparents’ courtship. “Dawdi must’ve loved
you
an awful lot.”
“Why, sure. But love’s altogether different when you first meet and court and all. It changes and deepens into something that can withstand the storms, ya know—something worth fighting for as you grow older.” She paused to look up from her tatting. “Or it doesn’t grow at all.”
She understands, for sure and for certain.
Mammi continued. “Course, some folk might begin to appreciate each other again, but it takes time.” She kept tatting, more slowly now. “But some marriages are merely tolerated,” Mammi Adah ended in a whisper.
Grace stared at the afghan lying on the ottoman, the one Mammi had made specifically to keep Dawdi’s unsteady legs warm. “Did you know for sure . . . I mean, when Dawdi asked you to marry him, did you know . . . ?”
“That he was the right one?”
“Jah.” Grace blinked away her tears.
“Honestly, Jakob couldn’t keep his eyes off me—wanted to come and tell me things first before anyone else. And we always enjoyed each other’s company. There were lots of strong signs such as that.”
“Tell me things first . . .”
Henry was not the first person Grace longed to share with, she suddenly realized. In fact, she scarcely ever thought to confide in him. And since he rarely spoke his mind to her, evidently she was not his first choice, either.
Like Mamma and Dat,
she thought sadly.
Grace ran her fingers over the hem of her apron, deep in thought. “I’m glad you left your gas lamp on, Mammi.”
“Well, bless your heart . . . so am I.” With that, her grandmother rose, smiling. “I’ll leave ya be for now.”
“See you in the mornin’.” Grace remained seated.
“Jah . . . and sleep well, dear.”
If I can.
She glanced at the Bible, still curious about what lay tucked between its pages.
O
n washday morning, Grace took time to shake each wet garment carefully before pressing the shoulder seam or waistline to the clothesline. She secured each item with wooden clothespins, using only two of the several lines today. Mamma’s clothes were distinctly missing.
When she’d finished, Grace hurried down the road to the shanty phone and dialed the number she’d memorized. Martin Puckett answered on the second ring.
“Hullo. It’s Grace Byler.”
“Why, yes.” He sounded exceptionally pleased. “How can I help you?”
“I need a ride to Orchard Road.”
“What time would you like to be picked up and where?”
“Out at the end of the driveway is just fine,” she told him. “And as soon as possible.”
“Is twenty minutes from now soon enough?”
“That’ll be
gut.
Denki.”
“All right, I’ll be there.”
She said good-bye and hung up, hoping she wouldn’t soon become the topic of a new wave of gossip by being seen alone with her mother’s early morning driver.
Frowning at her own cynicism, she scurried back to the house to give Mandy instructions for dinner at noon, in case Grace wasn’t able to return in time. But when she arrived, Mandy was nowhere to be found. She wrote her a note instead, then dashed out to the barn, where it turned out Mandy was helping with a difficult delivery—triplet lambs.
Reassured that all was in order, Grace stepped inside to the main hall to get her shawl and once again left the house. Walking along the roadside, she discovered she’d picked up her mother’s wrap by mistake, but she kept going, not wanting to keep Martin Puckett waiting. “If only wearing it could help me understand what Mamma’s been thinkin’,” she whispered.
She dug into her shoulder purse, glad she’d remembered to bring the payment for the driver. It wasn’t a long ride over to Uncle Ike’s place, and he would probably be surprised to see her. She could only hope she’d find him home, so as not to waste her hard-earned money. It wasn’t like her to make a trip with a single stop.
When she spied Martin’s van, she felt sure this had not been the vehicle she’d seen when Mamma left. If he had indeed driven her mother, why had he chosen to take a car?
“Good morning.” She waited for him to slide open the passenger door.
“Such a nice day.” He stepped aside as she got in.
She nodded, wanting so badly to ask if he’d taken Mamma to the train station, as the rumors had it. But she spared him the embarrassment of facing up to the gossip. No matter the usual poison of the grapevine, it was beyond her how all this had gotten started.
“Where would you like to go today?” asked Martin. She gave him the address. “Ah, to your mother’s kin.” He nodded. “I recall the place.”
“If you can return for me, I’d be grateful,” she added quickly. “I’ll be there only about an hour or so.”
He glanced in the rearview mirror, his eyes kind. “Very well.”
She tried to ignore her unasked question by taking in the sights of fertile fields and babbling creeks as she rode. Spotting a robin landing on a neighbor’s birdbath and shaking its wings, she thought again of Mamma.
They rode for a ways without more conversation, until Grace could hold it in no longer. She simply had to know. “Ach, Martin, I hate bringin’ this up, but there’s word you drove my mother to the train station last Thursday,” she said. “Do you happen to know where she might’ve been headed so early in the mornin’?”
Their eyes met in the rearview mirror again. “Your mother was quite upset.” He looked back at the road. “I tried to talk her into staying, but she was insistent about going. I’ve no idea where she was headed.”
He turned slightly to look over his shoulder, as if uncomfortable about divulging more. “She asked me not to say anything.” He paused. “So then, she hasn’t returned?”
“Not yet . . . and none of us have heard from her, either.” Grace sighed, feeling too tenderhearted to mention the rumors flying about Martin and Mamma.
No need
, she thought. It was quite clear from what he’d said that Martin hadn’t gone anywhere with her mother, though Grace didn’t understand why she’d wanted him to conceal her trip.
“I hope she’s all right.” His voice was thick with concern. “Frankly, I worried about her traveling alone like that.”
“Well, I pray the Lord’s watchin’ over her.” Looking out her window again, she tried to appreciate all the beauty around her—the morning skies were clear, promising sunshine. Yet the world seemed cold and bleak.
Thinking now of Uncle Ike, she hoped that he might know something to lead her to Mamma. “I mean to find my mother and bring her home,” she stated suddenly.
Martin’s head bobbed. “For your sake and your family’s, I hope you will.”
Ike Peachy’s farmhouse was coming into view, and even before Martin got out of the van, he promised to return as she’d requested. Grace waited for him to come around and push open the heavy door before she stepped out. “Denki, ever so much,” she said.
Ain’t a speck wrong with Martin Puckett,
she decided.
Martin backed up and turned around before pulling onto the road, relieved that Grace Byler had been so sympathetic toward him. Lettie’s disappearance had evidently caused her daughter great confusion and grief—her bloodshot eyes gave that away. He wished he might somehow alleviate the family’s pain.
I should’ve tried harder to keep Lettie from going. . . .
He drove to Ronks, south of Route 340, to pick up several Amish ladies who wanted to go to Belmont Fabrics in Paradise. Grace’s request for him to come back for her in an hour or so made for perfect timing. He was definitely using plenty of gas by juggling customers, but he was glad to be busy today after a weekend without any calls—at least none that had reached his voice mail. And since Grace had phoned him and spoken directly about last Thursday, Martin began to feel less concerned that the weekend’s quiet had anything to do with Lettie Byler.
Judah could bear it no longer. Dejected, he left the birthing stall. He pushed open the barn door and walked across the yard, toward the road. He and Adam had done everything in their power to save the third lamb.
Triplets
. . .
ach, think of it.
But the more he pondered whatever had gone wrong, the more miserable he felt.
Not caring where he walked, he muttered to himself, “If Lettie had been here, things might’ve turned out better.” From the early days of their marriage, she’d always been so gentle and caring with the ewes. She’d spent hours with him in the barn, or checked on the newborns herself to spell him.
What happened in March that changed her so much?
He shook his head, not wanting to entertain irritating thoughts about his wife, the beautiful bride of his youth. Lettie had not always been a worry to him. No, there had been many pleasant days.
How long had she been gone? Seemed awful long already. He felt as helpless now as he had watching the smallest lamb struggle for air, the will to live so strong in the poor, tiny thing.
