The Bridesmaid (14 page)

Without a second thought, she dashed outside, running down the long lane to the road, calling for Cora Jane to stop. “Come back, sister!” But the horse was nearly galloping as the carriage sped away.

J
oanna returned to the house, crestfallen and out of sorts. So ferhoodled she was today! She joined her mother at the kitchen table to peel a pile of potatoes.

“Where's Cora Jane headed?” she asked Mamma.

Mamma looked up, her eyes questioning. “Why do you ask?”

“She was in such a big hurry.”

“As
you
were earlier.”

Mamma's reply caught her off guard. “I just went to Cousin Malinda's is all,” Joanna said. “I said I'd be by today after the quilting.”

“Well, I have no idea what Cora Jane has in mind.”

Joanna told about the old family quilt Cousin Malinda had discovered. “I went there to pick it up.” She paused. “Evidently Mammi Kurtz wants me to have it.”

A quick smile spread across Mamma's face. “That's awful nice.” Mamma peered around the kitchen, as if expecting to see the quilt nearby. “Where're ya keepin' it?”

“I accidentally left it in the back of the buggy.”

Mamma's expression was inquisitive. “Have ya told Cora Jane yet?”

Shaking her head, Joanna continued to scrape out the eyes of the potatoes. Did Mamma think her sister should have the quilt instead?

Mamma placed her freshly peeled potatoes in her apron to carry them to the sink to rinse. “I'm sure curious 'bout that quilt.”

Joanna repeated what Malinda had said regarding how old it might be, though she didn't say a word about how special it was, nor that Malinda had suggested it had something of a story.

Mamma inquired about the pattern and the color scheme, and Joanna was happy to share all of that.

“Where do ya plan to put it?” Mamma asked.

“Oh, prob'ly in my hope chest.”

“Well, why not use it?” Mamma looked surprisingly serious.

“I don't . . . I mean, I'm thinkin' I'll just wait awhile.” Something seemed off beam about having a wedding ring quilt spread across her bed, especially when things with Eben seemed at a standstill.

“Till you're wed, ya mean?”

Joanna didn't look up, for fear she might see reservation, even doubt, in Mamma's eyes. “It's been a while, for sure, but I can still hope things work out, ain't?”

“One can always hope.” The halting way her mother said it left Joanna believing her mother had lost faith in her beau. Had Cora Jane swayed Mamma to her thinking? Certainly now at twenty-five, most young Amishwomen would have accepted their singleness.

But Eben loves me
, Joanna reminded herself.

The late-afternoon sun was still bright when Cora Jane returned home. Joanna spotted her from the kitchen window, where she was still working with Mamma. “I'll help her unhitch the horse,” she told Mamma right quick. “And I'll bring in that quilt, too.” She wanted to talk to her sister without Mamma or anyone else overhearing.

Cora Jane looked surprised as Joanna approached.

“Where'd ya go in such a hurry?” asked Joanna, wasting no time.

Cora Jane kept mum as she unhooked the back hold strap on her side of the horse.

Joanna unfastened the tugs, her jaw clenched. “I asked you a question.”

Cora Jane shrugged, shifting her feet. “Guess you'll know soon enough.”

“For pity's sake, Cora Jane, what's gotten into you?”

“I'd say pity's a
gut
way to put it.”

“Why on earth can't ya say where you've been?” Joanna demanded, her stomach in nervous knots.

There was a long pause in which Cora Jane's face turned pale. “To see the deacon,” she finally admitted.

“Whatever for?” asked Joanna.

“With proof. I think you know what I mean.”

Joanna could scarcely speak for lack of air. She struggled with what to say—how to say it. “You didn't!”

Cora Jane nodded slowly. “You're a baptized church member, expected to follow the rules. Ain't so?”

“You honestly didn't take my notebook over there, did ya?”

Together, they held the shafts, and Cora Jane led the horse out, away from the carriage.

How could she?
Joanna stared at her sister.

Soon misery began to overtake Cora Jane's countenance. Still standing next to the horse, she said, “I had no choice.” Her voice was a near whisper. “Under the Lord God, ya know.”

You little snitch!

“Is it really your job to judge—to help the Lord out?” Joanna thought of poor Mary's Ohio cousin and her pink dress. Where would Cora Jane's self-righteousness end?

“It's just one more sign, sister.”

“A sign . . . of what?”

“I fear you're walkin' the fence.” Cora Jane frowned sadly.

Breathing a prayer for patience, Joanna shook her head. “No, Cora Jane. There's no need to worry 'bout any of that,” she said, tears welling up. “You betrayed me, and you know it!”

Cora Jane dodged Joanna's glare and looked toward the house with a sigh. “Preacher Yoder will drop by sometime this week to speak with you on behalf of the ailing deacon.”

“You have no idea what you've done. How could a sister do this to a sister?” Joanna fought back tears.
“How?”

“What about the ministerial brethren?” Cora Jane said quietly. “How could you transgress against
them
?” With that, she led the horse up toward the stable.

Joanna's chest felt tight as she walked back to the buggy, to the front seat, where she snatched up Cora Jane's entire sewing bag, the story notebook tucked inside. Then, with a huff, she moved outside to the very back of the buggy and retrieved the old quilt. She made the effort to carry both the large quilt and Cora Jane's bag across the yard.

Inside, Joanna couldn't bring herself to make eye contact with Mamma when she hurried through the kitchen. The pain in her heart knew no bounds as she made her way upstairs, to the privacy of her room.

———

The bedroom was strewn with sunlight, a contrast to Joanna's despondent mood. Tenderly, she unwrapped the quilt and placed it on her bed. Then she promptly emptied the contents of Cora Jane's sewing bag beside it. Sure enough: There lay her treasured notebook. She opened it and was stunned to see the first pages gone.

The start of my best and longest story!

She wanted to weep and wail. But she was not a child; she shouldn't let her emotions get the best of her. The truth was, she'd gotten caught at last, and at the hands of her own sister, which hurt worst of all.

“Everything all right in here?” Mamma asked, standing primly in the doorway. She frowned into the room.

Joanna sighed. Dare she spill out her woes to Mamma? She simply wasn't one to share much with her mother, maybe because of her own need for privacy . . . particularly when it came to her writing. “Just upset, I guess.”

Mamma stepped into the bedroom and wiped her hands on her long black apron. “Your face is nearly purple.” Mamma looked curiously at the sewing notions strewn on the bed, and at Cora Jane's bag lying there, too.

“I'll be fine, honest.”

“Jah?”

Although devastated at the thought of anyone unsympathetic reading her stories, Joanna was also relieved Mamma wouldn't press for answers. She motioned to her bed. “Here's the wedding quilt I was tellin' about.”

Her mother moved closer and sat on the bed to inspect not only its pattern, but the stitching on both sides. Eyes wide, she searched the top and bottom bordered hems for any indication of its maker, much as Joanna first had at Cousin Malinda's. “It's special, all right,” Mamma said at last, eyes glistening. “An enduring connection to our relatives of yore.”

“I felt that way, too, when Malinda first showed it to me.”

They nodded in unison. And, in that strangely sweet moment, Joanna almost had the courage to open her heart to let the anguish of Cora Jane's disloyalty overflow.

Then, thinking better of it, she said only, “I'd rather Cora Jane not see this just yet. Not today, anyway.”

Mamma grimaced but didn't ask why. Silently, she rose. “I'm happy for you . . . being able to call this quilt your own.”

Joanna gave a tentative smile, thankful Cora Jane had kept herself outside—away from the house for this long. It was the very least she could do.

T
he next morning was cooler, with wispy clouds hugging the sky.

“A fine fishing day,”
Joanna's Dat might say, if he wasn't all tied up this Friday with field work, as all the local farmers were.

Joanna was also occupied, rolling out pie dough with Mamma at the kitchen table while Cora Jane organized the sewing room upstairs.

From where she sat, Joanna could see clear out to the road and beyond, past the neighbor to the south, who was repairing the roof of their springhouse. She gazed over at the expanse of acreage to the edge of her newlywed cousin's freshly plowed cornfield. Maybe she'd go over there and help once the baby arrived. Such a special time that would be this fall, caring for a brand-new infant. Of course, Malinda would have plenty of help from the rest of her family, too.

Joanna let herself imagine other people's lives, as she often did when doing menial tasks. Why did Malinda seem so lonely when she'd married her best friend and sweetheart? That was one thing Joanna didn't quite understand.

Raising her eyes again to the window, she was jolted back to reality. Her breath caught in her throat.
No!
Preacher Yoder had just turned into the lane.

“Well, what's this?” Mamma sputtered, getting up to go to the back door.

Joanna's heart beat ever so hard as she remembered Cora Jane's declaration.
Preacher didn't waste any time!

Soon their tall minister was standing on the back stoop, his bearded face looking mighty grim as he asked to speak to Joanna.

Mamma's cheerful expression changed quickly to shock; nevertheless, she motioned calmly to her.

Never had a minister come to call on account of Joanna. Anxious, she stood and walked to the screen door, wishing she could hide in the cold cellar below the house.

“
Guder Mariye,”
Preacher Yoder said. Then, just as quickly, he asked her to walk to the well pump with him, in plain view, as was customary.

She nodded respectfully, her hands clammy. Mindful to walk slightly behind him, she willed herself to breathe.

“It's come to my attention that you're writing make-believe stories.” The minister got right to the point. “And thanks to your notebook, I've seen it with my own eyes.”

“'Tis true.” She nodded.

“And . . . seems to me you're putting yourself into one of them, jah?” He didn't let her answer but continued on. “That Troyer boy from Indiana is in there, too. Not hard to see that, even when the names are different.”

She didn't know how to respond, or if she should.

“I wouldn't get any ideas, now, about asking permission to transfer your church membership out there, not with this secret ambition you're hiding.” Preacher Yoder's eyes penetrated hers.

She lowered her eyes; he certainly wasn't finished.

“Do you understand why I've come here, Joanna?”

She raised her head and saw how solemn his expression was. With his black coat and trousers, he looked ready to conduct a funeral.

“Nee, not entirely,” she said softly. Since her baptism, Joanna had been careful to follow the Old Ways in everything but this. Even so, writing her stories was one thing; sharing them in print was quite another. Yet hadn't she been tempted to do that very thing?

Preacher paused, then after a great, deep breath, he went on. “Writing such stories is a waste of time, but it also appears that you're a-hankerin' to get them published.”

Joanna trembled under his stern gaze. “So far, I've written them only for myself.”

“Well, that may be, but there is more than one note about possible publishers written in the margins of your notebook.” He paused. “Is your fancy English friend, Amelia, encouraging you to seek publication?”

“She has.” Joanna's heart wavered. “But I've yet to look into it.”

“Far better for you to keep in mind your vow to God and the Hickory Hollow church. No need letting an outsider influence you toward the world. And no need getting puffed up about your writing, neither.”

“Is it considered a sin to put stories down on paper, then?” She looked over her shoulder, back toward the house. “I know such creativity is frowned upon . . . but not forbidden, jah?”

Preacher Yoder's responding frown was so harsh it enveloped his whole face. “Your attitude concerns me. I see rebellion in you, Joanna—the worst sin of all. The origin of all wickedness.”

She was stunned. Did an innocent question make her rebellious? “I didn't mean to come across as—”

“You're a baptized child of God, are you not?”

“Jah.” She bowed her head. “Forgive me for speaking out of turn, Preacher.”

“It's been some time since I've encountered an attempt at compliance and stubborn insistence in the selfsame breath. Joanna, you must never talk back to a man of God,” he stated firmly. “Doing so could eventually get ya shunned.”

Despite her shock at this, another question sprang to mind: Was there a difference between telling a story out loud and putting it down on paper? How many storytellers did she know in the hollow? Yet they had not been silenced for sharing interesting tales at quilting bees and work frolics and such. Nor had they been threatened with excommunication.

Joanna pondered whether or not to voice her question. Certainly she did not want to push things, like Rebecca Lapp's adopted daughter, Katie, had some years ago. Katie was still under the
Bann
.

“Is tellin' stories out loud also considered a sin, then?” she asked in what she hoped was a meek tone, looking at him again.

He pursed his lips, deep furrows still evident in his brow. The preacher seemed more frustrated than indignant now that she had the gall to continue to speak up. But he did not pacify her by saying her writings were either forbidden or a sin. “If this type of questioning continues, you will be called upon to repent before the church membership.”

Do I sound defiant?
Joanna honestly wondered—she'd been too perplexed to remain silent.

Preacher Yoder gave a swift jerk of his head, signaling the end of the conversation. Then, without another word, he marched to his waiting horse and carriage, a profile in black except for his straw hat.

In a daze, Joanna tried to sort out what he'd actually said. She was fairly sure she was expected to stop writing her stories, yet he hadn't specifically said it was against the church ordinance. Nor had he declared it a sin. But getting published: The preacher had been mighty clear on
that
point.

Ach, I've never been so embarrassed in my life!

Trying to calm down from the upsetting visit, she looked up and noticed Cora Jane standing at an open upstairs window. Joanna was shocked to think she might have listened in on the private conversation. Reddening, Cora Jane inched back, away from sight.

What's come over her?

With a moan, Joanna turned away from the house. She stared at the clouds toward the northeast. Never before had she felt so alone.

So it's come to this.
Joanna reached for the hem of her apron to dry her tears. The emptiness in her heart needed to be filled, and she yearned for Eben's loving arms, imagining what it would be like to have him with her now, walking together once again.

She poured out her heart in prayer.
O Lord, how can I give up what brings me such enjoyment?