The Judgment (2 page)

“Did ya hear . . . Deacon Samuel Esh’s niece Annie Mast is soon to have her babies?” my mother said suddenly, though in a whisper. “Twins, the midwife says.”

“Ah, such a wonderful-
gut
blessing for Annie and her husband
.”

“Jah.”
Mamm smiled weakly. “They’ve sent for Rebekah Bontrager to be a mother’s helper. Rebekah’s father is a second cousin to the deacon, ya know.”

“Oh?” I was surprised they’d chosen someone so far away. I hadn’t heard a peep from Rebekah for a good nine years. Last I’d seen her, she was twelve. Some of the girls, already intimidated by her blossoming beauty, were sure it was nothing less than Providence she’d upped and moved to Indiana, prior to her courting years. Even Cousin Esther had been quite relieved, considering the way Rebekah had begun to turn the heads of more than one church boy. John Glick included.

“When do ya s’pose Rebekah’s coming?” I asked, sitting near the foot of the daybed.

“Tomorrow’s what I heard.”

Esther’s wedding day . . .

“Well, it’ll be nice seein’ her again,” I said, confident she’d be long gone before she could pose a threat to any of my single cousins.

“She’s planning to stay
all winter
, Rosie dear.” Mamm’s eyes held my gaze for an awkward moment, then fluttered shut.

Sighing, I unfolded the afghan at the foot of the bed and lifted it gently to cover her. “No need to worry . . . Silas only has eyes for me,” I told myself as I tiptoed out of the room.

Nor is the people’s judgment always true:

The most may err as grossly as the few.

—J
OHN
D
RYDEN

Who so loves, believes the impossible.

—E
LIZABETH
B
ARRETT BROWNING

Chapter 1

S
unlight was a meager trickle from an ever-darkening sky. The long, rasping shriek of a barn owl echoed in the pastureland to the east, beyond the corncrib. The coming twilight was tinged with the earthy scent of freshly shoveled barn manure that had been hauled out to the dung pit.

Rose Ann Kauffman pulled her black shawl close around her shoulders and hurried across the backyard with Hen Orringer to the small house where Hen and her four-year-old daughter, Mattie Sue, had been residing for the past weeks
.
The bungalow-like abode was cloaked in ivy on one side of its back porch, making it the more appealing of the two attached dwellings connected to their father’s large farmhouse.

Hen reached for the storm door, opened it, and stepped inside the small kitchen. Quickly, she moved to the table and reached for a chair, motioning for Rose to sit, too. “Honestly, Rosie, I never thought things would come to this.”

Rose wasn’t exactly sure what
this
entailed, but she knew enough to suspect Hen was speaking about her troubled relationship with Brandon. Settling into the chair, she listened to Hen lament her husband’s growing coolness toward her. “The few times we’ve met for coffee, he always asks about Mattie first. And then he carries on about how he’s not getting to see her grow up.” Hen sighed. “I can’t blame him—Mattie Sue’s his daughter, too. But sometimes I just wish he’d act as if he missed
me.
”

Rose leaned her elbows on the table. “I’m sure he does, Hen.” Her heart broke for her sister, and as Hen continued to talk, Rose noticed again how scattered and
ferhoodled
Hen’s feelings were for her husband.

“You’ve been through a lot,” Rose added softly, not saying that it was largely Hen’s doing she was in this pickle, impulsive as she was known to be.

Hen continued on, her face dipping with sadness, then momentarily brightening each time she talked of Mattie Sue. Through their growing-up years, Rose had observed this tendency for Hen to open up her heart after suppertime. When Hen had eaten her fill, as she had tonight, she liked to talk. But Mamm would surely say Hen was talking out of turn with her fickle comments
.
Rose knew their mother would encourage Hen to be consistently loyal to Brandon in both word and deed. Yet that had hardly been the case since Hen had left him to live here.

“You know, Rosie, I really hoped Brandon would miss me enough to ask me to come back.” Hen turned to look out the window, her fair hair as neat as a pin, parted down the middle and secured into a tight, low bun. “But he never does. It’s like he’s only interested in Mattie Sue.”

“Aw, ya really think so?”

“Sure seems that way.”

“Would you return home if he asked?” Rose said gingerly.

Hen shook her head, tears filling her eyes. “I wish I could. But I’ve had a taste of this wonderful-good life again . . . and Brandon wants nothing to do with it.” She wiped her face with her handkerchief. “He’s more interested in his wicked TV than me.” Hen went on to explain that Brandon remained firm about watching whatever he pleased—everything from MTV to R-rated movies. “At our coffee visits, he makes a point of telling me what he watches, as if trying to goad me. He doesn’t care one iota what I think.” She paused for a moment, and then began to spew even more resentment. “And he’s never once brought up exposing Mattie Sue to that Madonna business, either.
Ach,
it was just terrible, seeing her mimic that woman. Even worse, he thought it was funny.”

Rose cringed. “Have you talked further to the bishop or Dat about it? To seek out their wisdom?”

Hen nodded her head and pulled lightly on her
Kapp
strings. “To tell the truth, Dad’s been prompting me to move back with Brandon. He’s even asked me to pray with him about it.”

Rose wasn’t surprised. After all, Hen had made a lifelong marriage vow—for better or for worse. But did the English marriage vow mean turning a blind eye to a husband who seemed bent on introducing a child to the wiles of the devil? She couldn’t imagine her brother-in-law wanting to do that intentionally. Brandon hadn’t enjoyed the blessing of growing up Plain, or even of belonging to any kind of a church fellowship. Nor had he learned anything about Amish life, due to his own indifference, or so Hen had always indicated. Could Rose really blame him for behaving like an
Englischer
?

He doesn’t know any better.

“I daresay the Lord will make a way.” Rose truly believed that. “If Dat wants to pray with ya, why not do it?”

Hen’s eyes welled up again. “On top of all that, Mamm told me recently I should think seriously about the dangers of leaving Brandon alone for much longer.”

Rose flinched, guessing why Mamm might be worried.

“Lest another woman catch his eye,” Hen said softly. “Dad’s hinted at the same thing, suggesting I go and visit my husband one of these evenings, without Mattie Sue along.”

Such talk made Rose’s face grow warm and she got up from her chair. “You thirsty?”

Hen nodded. “Sure. I made some mint tea just this morning, before work.” She rose quickly and went to the refrigerator.

They bumped into each other as they reached into the cupboard for glasses. Hen set down the pitcher of iced tea, then opened her arms and drew her sister near. “Oh, Rosie, I’m so glad we have each other to talk to again,” Hen said, giving her a quick peck on the cheek.

“Jah.” Rose stiffened suddenly, not meaning to.

“You’re not still angry at me, are you?”

Rose stepped back, frowning. “Why would I be?”

“For what I did—leaving you and turning my back on our close sisterhood . . . when I abandoned the People.”

Rose touched Hen’s shoulder. She
had
been hurt, and terribly so. Yet now with Hen here again, where she’d grown up, Rose was beginning to feel as if they were making up for the time they’d lost. Even so, she worried that Hen’s separation would cause irreparable damage to her marriage—or already had. “Ach, it’s hard to know what I think,” Rose said quietly, not wanting to continue brooding the loss of her sister for those years.

“I just want you to know . . . I don’t blame you for being upset, Rosie.”

Rose wished things could resume the way they’d always been. Was it possible to share so fully with Hen once again? She couldn’t help wondering how her relationship with her sister might change once she, too, became a married woman. But that was another whole year away.

A knock came at the door and Hen turned to look. “Dad . . . come right in,” she called as the door opened. “Rosie and I were just pouring cold drinks—can we get you something, too?”

Dat’s gray-flecked brown hair was all matted down after a hard day of toil. A ridge could be seen across his bangs when he removed his hat. His serious eyes signaled to Rose that he wanted to talk privately with Hen.

“Won’t ya sit for a spell, Dat?” Rose said, still standing.

He eyed the two of them. “Don’t mean to interrupt yous.”

“Oh, that’s all right.” Rose moved toward the door. “I’ll come see ya another time, Hen.”

Dat reached for a chair and sat down with a sigh, putting his hat on the table in front of him. “No need to leave on my account.” He looked Rose’s way.

Hen gave her an apprehensive stare as Rose waved good-bye and headed for the back door.
What sort of trouble is brewing now?

Hen’s father shifted his hat on the table and looked up at her. His black suspenders were a bit frayed and his green shirt sleeves were rolled up close to his elbows. His brown eyes were sunken.

“You look tired, Dad,” Hen said, going to the kitchen to pour some mint tea for him, even though he hadn’t indicated he wanted any.

“That I am.”

She carried the drink to him and set it before him on the table. “This might help perk you up.”

He thanked her, then hung his head. “Oh, daughter, I hardly know how to tell ya what I came to say.”

She froze, her hands gripping the back of the chair.

“Brandon stopped by here today, while you were gone.”

Her heart caught in her throat, not just because of what her father had said, but because of the way he frowned so deeply. “He did?”

Dad deliberately folded his hands on the table. “He didn’t want you to receive this in the mail.” He paused to pull a folded envelope out of his pants pocket. “I haven’t read it, but he told me flat-out, he’s ready to file for divorce.”

She winced like she’d been slapped.
Divorce?

He held out the letter. “He said everything you need to know is in here.”

“Did Brandon say anything else?”

“Just that his lawyer would handle everything.” Her father’s face looked gray.

Brandon’s own brother, no doubt . . .

“Ach, why’s he moving so fast?” she whispered.

She opened the letter to see the first line,
Dear Hannah.
Such a shock. He’d used her full name, a name he rarely spoke, as if he were writing to someone else. She made herself slow down and read every life-altering word.
You’ve abandoned me, Hannah, taking our daughter with you. And for no logical reason. What other choice do I have?

She read on until she arrived at the final line of the hurtful note:
If you aren’t home here with Mattie Sue by a week from this Saturday, I will file for divorce, as well as make a custody complaint.—Brandon

When Hen finished, she struggled to keep her lip from quivering, not wanting to break down in front of her father. “How will I manage?” she said softly.

“Just as I’ve always said: with God’s help.”

Dad lifted his hat and fingered the brim. “I worry if Brandon has his way, he’ll try and get sole custody of Mattie Sue.” He inhaled deeply.

She dreaded the thought. “He said that?”

“I have a real bad feeling ’bout the whole thing, Hen. ’Specially if yous can’t find some way to patch up your differences.” He wiped his face with the back of his hand, then told her what had happened to a young couple out in Wisconsin. They’d fought bitterly over the custody of their children, so fiercely that in the end the court had to determine the living arrangements for the little ones.

“Having the court decide—people who don’t even know us—is the last thing I want.” Hen coughed and struggled to find her voice.

“Of course ya don’t.”

Mattie Sue doesn’t deserve that,
she thought.

“Might do the two of you some
gut
if ya went over there to fix him a nice hot dinner real soon.” Dad sighed.

“And stay the night?” she blurted, then pursed her lips.

“Well . . . just think back to how things were when you first married. ’Nuff said.”

She shrugged his words away. It hurt too much to remember those carefree days, filled with love and reckless abandon. She’d married Brandon fully knowing how very English he was—at the time, it had been part of the attraction. In her heart of hearts, she knew going back to him and making the best of things was the right thing to do. But she was just stubborn enough to want to cling to her hope of returning to a simpler life—for Mattie Sue, and for herself.

“If he pushes you into court, you’ll go without a lawyer. No one should represent you but yourself.” This wasn’t a question but a statement. “ ’Tis our way, ya know. No pitting kin against kin.”