The Judgment (5 page)

Esther beamed as she eyed the happy couples lined up all the way down the hall. Already, several of the girls were blushing happily at Esther’s choice for them. And more than a few of the fellows seemed mighty pleased, too. Some of them were even discreetly reaching for their girl’s hand, behind the girls’ skirts. But all of that would cease the minute they descended the stairs for the feast. For not having gone to many Singings lately, Esther certainly had a good idea of what was what between some of the courting couples.

Rose smiled to herself.
Has John filled Esther in, just maybe?

At that moment, Rose realized Silas was without a partner. Instinctively, she stepped forward, then blushed a little, realizing what she’d done as Silas caught her eye. Fortunately, Esther seemed to recognize Silas’s dilemma, as well, and glanced around the room in search of an available girl.

Just then Rebekah reached the top of the long stairway. “I have no partner,” she said demurely and out of breath.

“Well . . .” Esther started to say, looking around her to see if Rebekah was indeed the only young woman left. Then she motioned for Silas to take his place beside Rebekah. “We’re all set, jah?”

With an apologetic look at Rose, Silas moved toward his partner. The predicament was clearly not his doing, and Rose smiled back to let him know she understood. He warmly returned her smile, a silent exchange that did not appear to be lost on Rebekah. Rose’s heart was warmed, though her blush returned as Rebekah’s questioning eyes came to rest on her.

Slowly, Rose turned and there was Melvin offering his arm. With one more look back at her beau, she followed Esther’s brother down the hall and around to the stairs when it came their turn.

Once they were seated downstairs at the Eck, the beautifully decorated corner reserved for the wedding party, Rose glanced at Esther, who was expressing her delight at one of John’s surprise wedding gifts to her—a pretty set of floral china, which had belonged to his grandmother. A service for twenty! Simply beaming, Esther made over the lovely plates, matching cups and saucers, and every imaginable service bowl and meat platter while her mother and sisters looked on.

Rose turned to chat politely with Melvin about the freshness the rainy weather had brought to the day, and how very happy the couple looked. The time passed pleasantly enough, and the feast was soon over. Like many couples, Melvin and Rose moseyed outside, and later, when the newlyweds came outdoors to pass around bars of chocolate to the guests, Rose spotted Silas and Rebekah talking over near the old well pump.

Goodness, Rose never would have expected her beau to look so animated. He was motioning back at the house as if he was trying to make a point of something rather important. The more Rose watched, the more uneasy she felt. It was clear that Silas was quite comfortable talking with Rebekah, and obviously whatever he was telling her was greatly appreciated. Even so, Rose checked her concern and reassured herself that there was doubtless plenty for them to catch up on, since they had been childhood friends.

That’s all it is.

She turned back to Melvin, who was talking about a horse auction he’d seen advertised in the
Lancaster Farming
periodical that he was planning to attend next week in New Holland, along with Silas. “He’s lookin’ to buy a new trotter—he and his Dat,” Melvin remarked.

Silas had said as much recently. “Jah, they’ve been looking to purchase a new mare soon,” Rose said, thinking Silas might want to get things lined up well in advance of their marriage. He was like that.

“Well, now, how would
you
know ’bout this, Rose?”

She blushed, having forgotten herself for a moment.

Melvin leaned over, peering at her comically. “Any idea?”

“Mind your own
Bisness
,” she said, laughing.

“Say, now. Who’s
that
girl Silas is with?” Melvin craned his neck to see.

“Rebekah Bontrager . . . visiting from Indiana. I forget the name of the town.”

His eyebrows rose. “Well, it’s certain no one could forget
her
.”

Rose looked right at him. “Seems you did. Rebekah grew up near here, but her family moved away when she was in second grade.”
Back when we were both tomboys . . .

Melvin was still gawking. “I knew I’d seen her somewhere.”

“She’s your age.”

“Twenty-one and still single?” He whistled. “Boy, oh boy . . . how’d she ever manage that?”

He obviously didn’t mind making a fool of himself, carrying on so. “If you’re that keen on her, why don’t ya go over and introduce yourself?”

He turned and grinned, seemingly pleased at her suggestion. “You know, I just might do that.” And off he went.

“Perfect,” Rose whispered, going inside to warm up. “Maybe we’ll just swap partners for the rest of the day.” Oh, what she wouldn’t give for that!

Chapter 4

A
n afternoon wind swept across the backyard as Hen made her way past the corncrib, toward the lifeless brown meadow where the phone shanty stood, smack-dab in the middle. She shivered, wondering how long before the first snowflakes would fall and cover the countryside with glittering layers of white. She and Brandon had enjoyed several such Thanksgiving Days just playing with little Mattie Sue, keeping warm by the living room fireplace . . . and watching the Macy’s Thanksgiving Day Parade.

Hurrying now against the cold, she arrived at the shanty. Promptly, before she lost heart, she dialed Brandon’s number. The phone rang once . . . twice . . . then three times. Each ring made Hen second-guess her resolve.

After seven rings, she presumed he was gone from the house. Still, she let the phone ring a few more times. He’d never been interested in traveling to visit his family for the holiday, but she wondered if their recent separation had propelled him out of town to his parents’ place.

The phone continued to ring.

He might be watching football. . . .

Eventually, she hung up and stared at the receiver, feeling drained, as if her very future hung in the balance before her. Dad was right.
Isn’t he always?
She should not have waited this long to contact her husband again, especially on a holiday.

Heavyhearted, Hen pushed open the wooden door and trudged back over the stubbly field, toward the house. The rain had turned to a mist, and she hadn’t bothered to bring her black outer bonnet, or an umbrella. She thought of Mattie’s cute remark this morning about the “Amish umbrella.” Then, just as quickly, she sighed, sad about her daughter’s plight, torn between two parents—and two vastly different lifestyles.
If Brandon follows through with his terrible threat.

When Hen arrived at the Dawdi Haus, Mattie Sue was carrying around her favorite stuffed animal, a dog she’d named Foofie, with the sweetest brown patch over its eye.

“Can I go over to Mammi Emma’s and read to her again before supper, Mommy?” she asked. Mattie Sue liked to pretend to read to her grandmother, which entertained Hen’s mother no end.

“Sure, honey,” Hen replied vaguely, an idea forming. “Let’s see if maybe you can stay and eat there, too.” She’d heard that two of her brothers and their families were bringing food for her parents, to go with the roast turkey her grandmother was making—an informal Thanksgiving gathering, since they rarely made much of English holidays.

Mattie Sue seemed happy at the prospect and began gathering up her books. She found her little woolen shawl and pulled it around her slender arms. “I’ll ask Dawdi and Mammi if it’s all right, jah?”

“Be sure and mind your manners.”

“Okay, Mommy.” With that, Mattie Sue stood on tiptoes as Hen leaned down for a kiss, and then Mattie Sue scampered out the back door.

Suddenly, all Hen could think of was Brandon and how very foreign her life seemed without him in it. Could she bear to live apart from him the rest of her days? Tears welled up as she went to get her own shawl and wrapped it tightly around her. The notion crossed her mind that she might be better received—once Brandon
did
arrive home—if she wore the English attire he was so fond of.
Something less Plain.
After all, here she was looking completely Amish, something she knew very well he disliked.

But now Hen felt as if she might fall into a panic if she didn’t get going. Besides, she’d left nearly all of her fancy English clothing behind.

She hurried next door to see if Mattie Sue could indeed stay with Mom and Dad. Then, heading back out toward the barn, she realized she hadn’t driven her car for several weeks. She eyed the family carriage parked in the buggy shed and wished she could be true to her determination to take the horse and buggy whenever she traveled. At least this time, she would spare Brandon the sacred Amish symbol of horse and carriage, too.

My cape dress and prayer cap will be enough to give him fits,
she thought with chagrin, hoping it would not be so.

Hen unlocked her car door and got in, feeling hardly any sense of hope that her visit might turn out to be a good thing for their marriage.
What’s left of it . . .

When Hen pulled into Brandon’s street, she slowed the car to a crawl. She felt terribly out of place dressed as she was, yet driving a car. Oh, the juxtaposition of Plain and fancy!

Seeing the house—
their home—
again gave her an unexpected twinge of pain. Nevertheless, she parked next to the curb, surprised to see a strange car in the driveway. How odd—a Maryland license plate.

Who’s here?

Curious, she got out and walked up the sidewalk, past the unfamiliar car, and as she did she noticed through the window a dress hanging in a see-through dry cleaner’s bag.
A woman?

Worry shot through her, though she attempted to dismiss it. More determined than before, Hen hurried to the front door.

Then, glancing down at herself, she knew for certain she’d made an error in judgment by wearing her frumpy-looking brown work dress, with its gripper-snaps to hold on the black apron.

Even though the door was closed, from inside the house, she heard music—the rhythmic thumps of dance music.

What’s going on?

Raising her hand to ring the doorbell, Hen trembled.

When no one came, she stood there, confused. She looked at the small porch and recalled scrubbing it with a bristle broom several times each spring and summer. Unsure why she should entertain such an odd memory just now, she considered ringing the doorbell again. But the door opened. Wiggles, the cinnamon-colored cocker spaniel puppy Brandon had bought last month to entice Mattie Sue home, came running, wagging his stubby tail and barking repeatedly.

And there stood Terry Orringer, Brandon’s unmarried older sister, her slender hands sticky with dough. Hen expelled her breath with relief.

“Well, I didn’t expect to see
you
,” Terry said, motioning Hen indoors with a sweep of her auburn hair. She looked Hen over. “Just in time for a late Thanksgiving dinner.”

“Thanks, but I really didn’t come to eat.”

“Oh, you must be here to see what’s-his-name,” Terry said over her slight shoulder, laughing in her shrill way as they both walked to the kitchen.

“Are you visiting for the weekend?” Hen asked, faltering. She’d never seen Terry’s car before. In fact, the only times Hen had engaged in conversation with her sister-in-law were at the few family gatherings she’d been to at Brandon’s parents’ sweeping estate in upstate New York.

“I didn’t think Brandon should be alone for the long weekend” came the flat answer.

Hen was uncomfortably aware of Terry’s casual jeans and comfy blue sweater . . . and her repeated glances at Hen’s Amish garb. “When do you expect him home?”

“He’s working on a project . . . at the office. So, not anytime soon, I’d guess.”

Hen remained in the breakfast nook as Terry worked and Wiggles crouched at her feet. “A project? On a holiday?”
What could be so important? Unless . . .
A wave of dismay nearly toppled her as she stood there, her knees locked. The fear was palpable.

“Something important, he said.”

Like filling out papers for his attorney.
Hen wished Terry wouldn’t play games. Why didn’t she just come right out and say it?

Terry looked over at her, frowning as if she wondered why Hen was still standing near the breakfast table, several yards away. “I hope you don’t mind, but I’ve got to keep working here. Brandon requested dumplings instead of mashed potatoes and gravy with his turkey,” she said.

Wiggles made a little squeal sound and jumped up playfully, trying to catch the end of Terry’s apron string in his mouth.

“Oh, you silly pooch.” Terry laughed, shooing him away.

Hen remembered how much her husband enjoyed homemade dumplings at Thanksgiving and Christmas. “Brandon must be glad you’re here to cook for him.”

“Well, I wasn’t going to let my baby brother starve . . . not over the holiday.”

Hen felt the sting Terry had no doubt intended.