The Judgment (14 page)

Not wanting to let on to Hen how she felt, Rose straightened her long black apron and followed her sister to the back door of the old farmhouse, their skirts rustling. Mattie Sue and Beth trailed behind Rose, still talking excitedly.

Rose wasn’t about to peek over her shoulder again, because each look stirred up more unsettled curiosity—curiosity that could lead to jealousy, come to think of it. She wasn’t even sure she should bring it up to Silas when she saw him next. Even so, no one could argue the fact that it was highly unfitting for him to come to see Rebekah.

Is there a secret between them?
Rose wondered as they entered the back porch.

Chapter 13

H
en hadn’t realized Annie Mast’s newborn twins would be impossible to tell apart. Except for a single pink strand of yarn tied loosely around one of the baby’s wrists, they looked exactly alike. Baby One and Baby Two were the names Annie had assigned to them “for now.” Annie and her husband were still deciding whether to give them names that sounded similar—names like Annie and Mandie, or Arie and Mary—or names that were unique.

The wee babes stirred up such a yearning in Hen. Sitting there in Annie’s front room, Hen could hardly wait to hold one of them. And once Baby Two was in her arms—the one without the pink wrist yarn—she found herself blinking back tears and looking away, in case Rose, or even Annie, saw her struggling so.

Mattie Sue sat with her on the sofa, leaning her head against Hen’s arm. Gently rocking the baby, Hen couldn’t keep her eyes off the tiny round face. All the while, the infant slept soundly in her arms, her little pink lips pursed and occasionally making sucking movements.

“How will you tell which twin is which, without the yarn?” asked Beth out of the blue. She had been standing near the woodstove, shifting her weight back and forth, as she often did.

Annie smiled tenderly, her eyes tired. She wore a thick yellow bathrobe. “A mother just knows.”

By the nod of her head and the look on her pretty face, that seemed to satisfy Beth.

“The yarn is for my husband’s benefit.”

They all chuckled at that.

“How long before you give them real names?” Beth asked.

Hen felt sorry for Beth—the question was more like that of a child than a young adult.
Such an innocent young woman
.

Annie responded kindly. “Oh, we’ll decide pretty soon, I think. Prob’ly tomorrow.”

Hen leaned her head to touch Mattie Sue’s. “Honey, you were this little once,” she whispered.

“I was?” Mattie Sue’s eyes widened.

“Teeny tiny.”

“Did I smell this good, too?” Mattie Sue sniffed the baby’s fuzzy head.

“You certainly did.”

Just then, the back door opened, and in came a beautiful brunette, who quickly removed her woolen shawl and outer bonnet and hung them on a hook near the door. Annie introduced her to everyone. “This is Rebekah Bontrager, who used to live near Salem Road with her family some years ago.” She explained that Rebekah was here to help with the newborn twins. Hen vaguely remembered a girl Rose’s age with the same name attending the one-room schoolhouse.

Rebekah said hello to all of them, glancing at Rose, who offered a little nod in return. Rebekah slipped an envelope into her pocket, then made a beeline for Baby One, asking Annie if she minded. Meanwhile, Rose seemed rather transfixed, her eyes on Rebekah, who caressed and cooed to the tiny infant in her arms.

Annie talked in cryptic tones about the home birth and the fact that the midwife, over the years, had helped to deliver “forty sets of twins, as of now.” She looked up tenderly at the wee babe in Rebekah’s arms from her spot in the willow rocker.

“It’s going to be a challenge to keep these two bundled up and warm this winter,” Rebekah said.

“Seems the cold’s already settled in to stay,” Annie added.

Some time later, Rebekah handed Baby One to Rose, then excused herself to her room, just a few feet away.

“Rebekah didn’t sleep much last night,” Annie explained, folding her hands. She chuckled. “None of us did, really.”

Hen couldn’t imagine having twins of any age. But with two newborn babes, the next six to eight weeks would be very demanding, mother’s helper or not. “Rebekah’s young, so let her take care of the babies as much as possible,” Hen suggested.

“Well, we certainly don’t want to tire you out further,” said Rose, handing Baby One back to Annie, who smiled down into the wee face and kissed the baby’s forehead.

“Do we have to go already?” Mattie Sue whined to Hen.

“You heard Aunt Rosie—we just dropped by for a short visit.”

“But, Mommy . . .” Mattie Sue whimpered.

“Honey, please,” Hen whispered. “We’ll visit Annie and her babies another time.”

Mattie began to sob as if her heart might break. This baffled Hen, but Rose hurried over and consoled her niece, leaning down to kiss her cheek and take her hand before leading her out to the back porch.

“I’m real sorry,” Hen told Annie. “She’s just not herself here lately.” That was all she felt she should say. She couldn’t help but wonder if Mattie’s sorrowful response to their leaving was a way of acting out because of their separation from Brandon. Did her daughter feel so terribly displaced?

Hen felt a pang of guilt as her heart ached for Mattie Sue. Adjusting the receiving blanket, she placed Baby Two in the wooden cradle with the soft pink bedding. The other matching cradle, lined in white eyelet, was set right next to it, a small white and yellow afghan folded neatly at the bottom.

“You and your husband are doubly blessed, Annie,” she said, gazing at the look-alike baby in Annie’s arms.

“Denki for stopping by . . . and for the nice goodies, too.”

“We’ll be seeing you again.” Hen suddenly realized Beth must have gone out to catch up with Rose and Mattie Sue. “Good-bye!”

“God be with ya, Hen.”

Quite unexpectedly, tears sprang to Hen’s eyes, and she made her way toward the wide porch. She felt the warm drops against her cheek as she opened the back door. Standing there on the dormant lawn, she wept for Mattie Sue . . . and for herself. She wept, too, for the babies she would never bear. If Brandon pushed through with his divorce, she would follow the way of the People and remain single the rest of her life, never to love again or to marry . . . or to bear more children.

To think I could lose my only child to a court ruling!

All the way home, Rose thought how peculiar it was of Silas to drop by Masts’ and visit Rebekah. What more did they have to talk about, following Cousin Esther’s wedding? It was both strange and annoying, but Rose refused to jump to conclusions.

When she opened the kitchen door back at the house, Rose heard Mamm moaning and held her breath, worried her mother was suffering the lingering effects of yesterday’s scare.

Barbara peeked out of the first-floor bedroom. “Rosie,
kumme schnell—
come quick!”

“What is it?” Rose’s heart was in her throat. “Has Mamm taken another bad turn?”

Barbara waited till Rose was near, then lowered her voice. “I fear Emma’s sinking into despair. She says the bones in her spine feel like they’re grinding against each other. Her back is worse than ever,” Barbara explained.

“Does Dat know?”

“He’s been checking on her every hour.” Barbara wiped her own eyes. “Such a
gut
man . . . your father.”

“ ’Tis true,” Rose agreed. “Ach, I never should’ve gone to see the twins.”

“No . . . no, I fear you’re shackled by your mother’s infirmities, Rose Ann.” Barbara’s eyes were soft with sympathy. “Your grandmother Sylvia was here and is returning in a few minutes, she said.”

“Oh?”

“Jah. She’s bringing over cold packs from her icebox.”

Rose heard Mammi Sylvia coming in the back door just then and she touched Barbara’s arm gently, thanking her. “You needn’t stay any longer. It was so nice of you to help out.”

“How are Annie’s babies?”

“Adorable,” Rose said. “And Annie looked awful tired, as you’d expect. But, oh, such perty babies she has! You’ll have to go over and see them soon.”

“I surely will.” Barbara leaned out from the doorway, as if looking to see where Rose’s grandmother was keeping herself. “Would ya have a minute to walk back to the house with me?”

“Why, sure. Just let me look in on my mother first.” Rose sensed Barbara had something important to share. Swiftly, she turned and went to Mamm’s bedside. Her mother’s eyes opened partway, and Rose whispered, “I’m awful sorry I ever gave you that pill.”

“Rosie . . . no, no . . . ain’t your fault. I was in rough shape even before that, dear.”

“I pray you’ll recover soon.”

Mamm nodded slightly, then seemed to drift back to sleep.

“Rest now,” Rose said as Mammi Sylvia entered, looking tired herself and carrying the cold packs. Rose told her she was going to walk with Barbara next door. “But I’ll return right quick.”

“Ach, you take your time,” Mammi Sylvia said.

She feels sorry for me.
Such pity was simply not warranted and Rose felt embarrassed.

She headed outside with the bishop’s wife, aware of the bright sky. A brittle crispness hung in the air, like a prelude to the first snow of the season. Thoughts of Silas and Rebekah threatened to intrude, but she pushed them out of her mind.

“Won’t be long till Christmas,” Rose said. Then, catching herself, she said she was sorry, this being the first without Christian. “I just wasn’t thinkin’.”

“Oh, but you were . . . about celebrating the Lord’s birthday.” Barbara looked at her, smiling pleasantly. “Don’t ever think you can’t enjoy Christmas because of what happened to our son.”

Doesn’t she think of
Nick
as theirs, too?
Rose felt so heavyhearted for the bishop and his wife. “It’ll be very difficult, I’m sure.”

“Jah, ’specially for Verna, who was always so fond of her brother,” replied Barbara.

Rose waited for a mention of Nick, but no such remark came just then. She wondered if her father had heard anything more about the brethren’s determination to question Nick. Or to locate him.

Barbara picked up her pace, and they walked through the pastureland between Rose’s father’s land and the bishop’s. This stretch had always been a fun place to explore, especially when Rose and Nick were children. She and Hen had romped here, too, dodging cow pies and the brambles near the wooded area, north of the grazing land.

“After Christian died, I couldn’t bring myself to go through his clothing and personal things. Same with Nick.”

“What did Nick leave behind?”

“Mainly his Amish clothes, I ’spect, since they’re still hanging on their pegs. But I really don’t know.” Barbara placed her hand on her bosom. “You see, I closed off both their rooms . . . just left things be.” She stopped walking and reached for Rose’s hand. “I know how fond you were of Nick and thought, just maybe, you should be the one to take a look at what’s left in there.”

Surprised at this, Rose suddenly felt unsure. Just how much did Barbara know of Nick and Rose’s devoted companionship? Rose felt the need to guard the years with Nick, out of loyalty to her friend. “It was kind of you to think of me,” she replied, her heart in her throat. “I’m willing to help however I can.”

“Well, come along, then. I’ll show you his room.”

Rose followed obediently, quite curious.

Chapter 14

S
olomon knew from past experience that once an Amishperson owned a car—a temptation for many youth during
Rumschpringe
—it was mighty hard to abandon the lure of speed and return to horse and buggy.

As he split wood that midmorning, he couldn’t help thinking Hen’s car parked on his property might soon become a bur in his flesh. Especially when she still occasionally drove it, like earlier today, taking along Rose Ann and Mattie Sue and Beth, too. The bishop was likely to ask her to sell the car and give the money to the church’s charity fund here before too long. That is, if she continued to dig in her heels and stayed put. Her stubbornness on this latter point weighed heavily on all of their minds . . . especially Solomon’s. The extra time Brandon had given Hen to get herself back to him would pass all too quickly, he knew.

The whole thing was complicated. His wayward daughter had come home and he’d scarcely had a chance to kill the fatted calf. Secretly Sol wanted to revel in the fact that his prodigal had returned.

If only she hadn’t succumbed to worldly drift as a youth.
He picked up his ax to split more wood. And as he worked, he considered his visit to Brandon yesterday.
My son-in-law, of all people.
It was still hard, even after seeing him several times since Hen’s coming home, to feel much of anything but pity for Hen’s husband. The man was rattled and on edge. His lips poured forth evidence of his impatience and irritation. Solomon almost wished he hadn’t made the trip to Quarryville.

Such futility . . .

He wouldn’t think of voicing these things, though. Truth was, Brandon needed someone to come alongside him, put a big, burly arm around his suited shoulders, and guide him along on his life journey.