The Judgment (7 page)

The rain drummed hard against the windows as Rose and Leah settled in downstairs again with another girl from the church district, Mandy Esh, one of the deacon’s courting-age granddaughters. The older folk were still singing their slow church songs in the front room. For a moment, Rose wished she’d joined with her many Kauffman relatives, although most were older than her parents.

“How’s your mother today?” Mandy asked.

“The same, really. She hasn’t completely recovered from having the flu a few weeks back. Dat and Mammi Sylvia stayed with her today,” Rose said, unwilling to go into much detail and put a damper on things.

“I thought so,” Mandy said. “Is she ever able to get out to quilting bees and whatnot?” She looked concerned.

“Hardly ever lately.”

Mandy shook her head. “Sorry to hear it.”

They talked of other things, including the barn Singing for the youth tonight, after the scheduled supper. Mandy also mentioned that she and several of her cousins and older sister Linda, as well as Leah and Arie, were making quilts for a homeless shelter in Philly.

“What a nice thing to do.”

“We were meeting at Annie Mast’s house, but more recently we’ve had it at my house—just till the babies come and settle in. Then we’ll pro’bly return to Annie’s. You’re welcome to join us, Rosie.” At this, Leah nodded cheerfully.

“I’d like that.” She asked when they planned to quilt next and was glad when Mandy said next Thursday, a week from today. “That’s the day after I work for Gilbert Browning, so I should be able to help. Well, I mean . . . if I can get away for a while.”

“You could take Annie’s spot at the frame,” Mandy added, “since she’s not able to come . . . getting so uncomfortable anymore. Due any day.”

“There’s a nice view of the pond from where Annie sits at the quilting frame,” Leah said, smiling.

“Sure . . . I’ll take Annie’s place.” Rose felt invigorated at the thought of working on quilts after many months of sewing only the faceless rag dolls, so popular with tourists, which she sold at market.

“Wonderful. That’ll help us keep goin’ on the quilt. We have two to finish before we go again to deliver them before Christmas. Prob’ly in a couple of weeks.”

Leah rose just then, excusing herself to wet her whistle and went to the sink for a glass of water.

Mandy’s eyes turned ever so serious. She glanced around, as if checking for listening ears, then leaned forward. “Mamma and Linda took several quilts to the shelter the middle of October. And, well . . . I really don’t know how to tell ya this.”

By the somber look on Mandy’s face, Rose wondered what on earth she was working up to. “What is it?”

Slowly, almost falteringly, Mandy said, “I remember what a
gut
friend you were to Nick Franco.”

At the sound of his name, Rose started. Mandy looked over her shoulder again, and Rose sensed that whatever Mandy was about to reveal might be something she’d rather not hear. Even so, she asked, “What about him?”

“Mamma saw him at the shelter,” Mandy said in a near whisper.

A homeless shelter?

“Well, for goodness’ sake. Is she sure?”

Mandy nodded her head. “I asked her the same thing.”

Sighing now, Rose leaned back in the chair and folded her hands. “I’m real sorry to hear that.”

“Mamma’s sad about it, too. We all are, despite what he did to Christian.”

Rose opened her mouth but thought better of it. She had no business defending Nick. “Has the bishop or anyone else been told?” she asked.

“I wouldn’t be surprised if the bishop hears ’bout it soon.”

Rose wanted to burrow her head in the crook of her elbow and pray right then and there.
Poor Nick, homeless. Please, Lord, watch over my friend!

She excused herself and went to stand on the back porch again, overwhelmed by the news—shaking at best. And Mandy’s attitude was like that of many.
I don’t blame her.

Rose was reminded of the night she’d ridden double with Nick on his favorite horse, Pepper, to the high meadow. Truth be known, she cherished that memory even to this day. Yet she knew she must sweep her mind free of all such fond recollections, including the afternoon near the creek in the dark ravine where Nick had revealed his love. And the day he’d carried her, when she’d hurt her knee. She had never forgotten how safe she felt in his arms. Safe and ever so cared for.

She must release those memories before she said her marriage vows to Silas while standing before the bishop and God.
But how?
The thought of Nick’s leaving could sometimes bring tears to her eyes.

Staring at the sky, Rose sighed deeply and wondered when the miserable surge of rain would ever let up.

Chapter 6

T
horoughly rattled, Hen surprised herself by not reacting openly when Brandon turned into the driveway just as she began to walk down the front sidewalk. Inwardly she held her breath, wondering what he’d say as he opened his car door and unfolded his long legs to get out.

“Well . . . surprise, surprise.” He grinned as he walked toward her, then gave her an obligatory peck on the cheek. “Happy Thanksgiving, Hen.”

She ignored his patronizing tone and waved toward the house. “I stopped by to see you . . . and while I was here, I picked up my ring holder, too.”

“Oh?” He looked down at her left hand. “You’re not hocking your diamond, are you?”

She grimaced. “I would never do that.”

His shoulders relaxed; he seemed relieved. “You must have received my letter.”

“Dad gave it to me . . . said you stopped by.”

He gave her a half smile. “How good of him.”

She suddenly felt empty.

“What is it, Hen?”

“All of this just seems so sudden.”

“We’re separated, aren’t we? Time to make it legal if you’re going to keep living away from home. Why drag this out?”

She looked at him, astonished. “We’re talking about our marriage, Brandon . . . our family.”

“Touché,” he replied. “Exactly what I’m thinking. It’s clear you don’t take it seriously.”

“Well, it’s unnecessary to hurry things like this. It really is.”

“Then I take it you’re coming home with Mattie Sue, right?”

She glanced at the house. Hen wasn’t sure, but it looked like Terry had just backed away from the window. Hen heard the puppy yipping loudly. “Why must Mattie Sue be in the middle of things?” she said quietly, feeling strange standing there for the whole neighborhood to see. “She’s happy where she is.”

“Without her father?” His eyes were fiery now, just as they were whenever he mentioned their daughter. “You haven’t brought her to visit like you said. What kind of mother keeps a child away from her daddy?”

She stepped back, surprised. “Brandon . . . please. That’s not what I’m saying. You should know that.”

“Well, then what?” He glanced down the street, shaking his head. “Drop Mattie off and pick her up in a few hours.”

She looked at him—his face, his hair, his mannerisms. Really looked. He seemed different somehow; incredibly so. What had happened during the weeks they’d been apart? Had they forgotten how to relate to each other? “You know how I feel about the worldly things coming into . . . our house.”

“Hen, you’re never going to make a case against me because I watch TV when Mattie’s around.” He reached for her arm. “Don’t you see? You’re the problem.
You,
Hen.”

She pulled away. “That’s not fair!”

“All right. It’s your absurdly high standards!”

There was no reasoning with him. Brandon had never understood her stance against his seeming desire to expose their daughter to the evils of the world, or his refusal to attend church. And since he didn’t, Hen felt it best she simply go. “I’m sorry to upset you,” she said quietly, moving past him toward her car.
And I’m sorry I stopped by.

“Yes, why don’t you go back to your precious Amish life . . . but remember what I said.” Brandon headed toward the house, then turned. “I am not kidding about the deadline, Hen. I already have the papers ready to file.”

She had never known him to be so rude or pushy—at least not to her. Dejected, she got into her car and drove away.

Dusk had fallen as the last of the supper dishes were put into a large tub and swished clean by several preappointed women. Rose was secretly glad to be among the wedding attendants, one of the few weddings she’d gone to where she wasn’t involved in clearing the tables or helping in the kitchen. Not that Rose ever minded doing so. It was a matter of sharing the work load, and when her own special day rolled around, she would call upon various family members to do the same for her and Silas.

Now that Melvin was back from the barn, she sat in a corner of the front room with him and listened as he freely shared his impressions of Rebekah Bontrager. “She’s really nice, not stuck up like you might expect for being so . . . uh—”

“Pretty?”

Melvin shrugged sheepishly. “Jah, and I was a little surprised that she and Silas already knew each other so well.”

“Of course they do, from when she and her family lived here.”

Melvin took a bite of his pecan pie. “I could be wrong, but I think they may have kept in touch since she left.”

“How do you mean?”

“My gut says so.”

“Maybe
you’d
like to ask her home after the Singing.” Rose forced a smile.

Melvin was quiet while he finished eating his slice of pie. Then, when he’d smacked his lips sufficiently, he leaned closer. “Listen, it’s not my imagination, Rose Ann. I think Rebekah’s sweet on Silas.”

Rose blew out a sigh. She doubted Melvin knew that she and Silas were betrothed.

“And I’d say the two of them are mighty comfortable with each other . . . the way they were talkin’ when I went out there.”

“Well, Silas gets along with everyone,” she said.

Melvin shrugged. “There’s no need for me to try and compete with Silas Good for her attention.” He pushed aside his empty plate. “I’ll see you later.” He moved away from the table, leaving Rose alone with her thoughts.

What a foolish imagination he has!
She brushed off his comments—Melvin had no idea how much Silas loved her. Nor did her cousin know Silas the way she did.

But sometime later, when Silas and Rebekah came indoors, wet from the rain and both of them wearing smiles, Melvin’s observations came back to her. And it wasn’t until much later that Silas sought Rose out and asked if she’d be his partner for the barn Singing . . . which helped greatly in dismissing Melvin’s jolting remarks.

Chapter 7

S
alem Road was shrouded in twilight as the headlights of a car shone into Solomon Kauffman’s driveway that evening. The vehicle slowed to a stop and a man got out. Solomon had just hung up his carpenter’s apron and was closing up his woodworking shop, carrying a lantern. “Hullo there,” he called as he stepped outside, a bit uneasy.

“It’s Gilbert Browning, your neighbor. Your daughter Rose is my housekeeper and cook.”

“How’ve ya been, Mr. Browning?”

“Oh, we’re doin’ all right.”

Solomon crossed the yard, motioning to him. “Won’t ya come inside?”

“I really can’t stay.” Mr. Browning glanced back at the car. “Beth’s with me.”

“Well, bring her in, too.”

“It’s Rose I need to talk to . . . and you.”

Solomon said she was off at a wedding. “She might be gone till late—those Singings sometimes last close to midnight,” he explained. “But I can certainly give her a message for ya.”

The light came on inside the car, and Solomon could see Beth, Mr. Browning’s special daughter, sitting up front in the passenger’s seat.

“I know this is on the spur of the moment, so I hesitate to ask for a favor.”

“No need to be
scheie—
shy,” Solomon said. “We’re glad to help if we can.”

Mr. Browning continued to hesitate, then forged ahead. “I’ve been called away to South Carolina to help my ailing father.”

“Bless him, will he be all right?”

“He fell and has a bad break in his hip, and there are some complications.” The older man sighed. “Would you mind having Beth stay with you a few days—possibly a week?”

“I don’t see why not. Rosie will be happy to look after your daughter. We all will.” Solomon thought it might actually be good to further occupy Rose these days, what with all of them still mourning Christian’s untimely death.

Mr. Browning seemed relieved. “Beth’s got everything packed. She even brought her stuffed animals and some of her writing notebooks.”

“Well, she’ll have plenty of space in Rose’s room.”

“You sure this isn’t an imposition?”

“No . . . no. Don’t even think twice about it,” said Solomon, going with him to the trunk to get Beth’s suitcase and a bag of the stuffed toys. “The soil’s resting now with the start of our wedding season. It’s our time for visitin’.” He paused a moment. “Your daughter will be well cared for, I can assure you.”

Beth climbed out of the car, but she stood in the open door and waited for her father to come around and hold on to her arm, just as Sol had seen Rose do the times Beth had visited here. The girl could be unsteady on her feet. “Hullo again, Beth,” he greeted her. Then, when her father came to meet her, Solomon lifted his lantern toward the house. “Just follow me.”