The Longing (24 page)
Did being honorable and good mean Chris would seek her out, just as Zach had pursued Suzy? Why should Chris look outside his own church for a girlfriend? Perhaps he was only curious about the Amish family that might have been Zach’s in-laws had Suzy lived.
She pondered this as she reached beneath her pillow for the snipped-off Kapp strings—the ones from the last head covering Suzy’d ever worn. Holding them as she gazed fondly at the face of her blue-eyed sister, so full of God’s love in this picture, she breathed a prayer for wisdom.
The clink of china and silverware and the muted talk of couples and their youth group leaders and sponsors blended into the background as Chris held a chair for his date. Their being seated at the head table had come as a surprise to him, although he should have expected it, since his scholarship was going to be announced.
“How’s this for front and center?” he joked with Sheryl, who, in a floor-length soft blue dress, looked prettier than he’d ever seen her. Nearly all the other young women were dressed just as conservatively for their church’s version of a senior prom, though there would be no dancing here.
“Did you think we’d be sitting here?” she asked softly.
He offered a quick yet heartfelt apology when he saw how ill at ease she was. To distract her, he pointed out the attractive program beneath her napkin and fork, and together they looked at the order of events. There would be a delicious dinner and dessert, then a guest speaker, a cappella singing by the attendees, and special remarks by key youth advisors. All in all, it made for a big night.
They bowed their heads for the blessing when the minister took the podium. Throughout the meal and awards, Chris felt like he had to carry the conversation, what little there was of it between him and his date. He’d known painfully shy girls before, but he’d never spent an entire evening with someone as quiet as Sheryl. Somewhat frustrated, he imagined for a moment what the event might have been like had Nellie been sitting to his right. It was nearly impossible to picture her at this white linen–covered table. Not a single young woman present wore the traditional garb of the Amish.
For everything that was good, even sweet, about Sheryl, he looked forward to next Thursday, when he planned to stop in at the bakery shop again and surprise his mom with yet another tasty dessert. Of course, she was on to him, even though he’d played down his interest in the “young Amish cook.”
When his name was called from the podium to announce his academic scholarship to Eastern Mennonite School, Chris forced himself to focus on the present. Sheryl was smiling at him, clapping with all the others.
Gratefully he rose and made his way to their senior pastor, who, smiling, gripped his hand and said, “Well done, Chris . . . the Lord bless you.”
He thanked him and returned to his seat, excited about his college plans.
The rest of the evening was a blur of conversations with friends from the youth group. He did his best to include Sheryl, who stood at his side throughout.
When he arrived home later, Chris was exhausted. Such an important evening should have been joyful, yet it had turned into an endurance contest. By comparison to his graduation banquet, the mere twenty minutes he’d spent taking Nellie Mae Fisher home seemed more thrilling—and all because of the company.
I’ve got to get Nellie into my life,
he thought, taking the stairs two at a time.
Reuben strode through his cornfield on the last day of May, the day before another Lord’s Day. Having two preachers and a deacon for the New Order church had boosted the morale of the congregation. Not that it needed boosting, as the house church was packed each Sunday. All of the witnessing they were doing was certainly seeing a gathering in of souls. Even so, the Old Ways still held an iron grip on many of the People, including David Yoder, who was either too weary to visit with him or eating “in private,” according to Elizabeth, whenever Reuben stopped by. He had felt like he was making some slight progress toward a connection with David the day the man had spoken directly to him after returning from rehab—but no longer. Reuben felt like a weekly intruder, but he also believed the Lord wanted him to persist, regardless of any frosty reception.
Not one to shy away from a challenge, Reuben took a minute to pray again for David. After all, it took determination to do anything worthwhile, including breeding and breaking horses to sell to other farmers. That attitude had made him a reliable source for driving horses all around Lancaster County and to the east. Farmers came from as far away as Maryland and New Jersey to talk turkey with him about his horses, many of which were bred from lame racehorses he had restored to health and trained for buggy driving.
Jah, persistence is the key to anything worth doing.
But the last time he’d gone to see David, even young Rebekah had turned him away, adding quietly how sorry she was that her father did not wish to see him.
“I’ll keep offering my friendship,” he’d told her.
“Now, I’m not tellin’ you to quit comin’, mind you,” she’d said, a glint in her eye. “Just relaying what my father said.” Rebekah had even followed him out to the buggy, waiting till he was inside before adding, “God will bless you, Reuben Fisher. You have been a faithful friend to my father, which hasn’t been true of some of his own kin.”
Reuben hadn’t known what to make of that, but he assumed it had much to do with the demanding and likely ticklish task of caring for David.
The accident had undeniably taken its toll on the whole family. But with this continuous barrier to his attempts to visit David, there was little he could do, except pray. And hope.
He leaned down and pulled up a tall weed, carrying it along with him through the furrowed rows of corn on either side of his feet. As he walked, he prayed over that vast field and the potato field up yonder, asking for a bountiful harvest, after last year’s drought. “We sure could use a good crop, Lord. But good or bad, may your will be done.”
The sky was devoid of color now, as white as the eggs laid by the purple martins in the two new birdhouses he and Benny, his six-year-old grandson, had built together last winter. Reuben had sent the birdhouses home with James’s boy, who had nearly burst his shirt buttons with pride.
Now if Reuben could just find some time, he would ask if his father might not enjoy building a few with him.
For old time’s sake.
He rarely saw his parents anymore, but he made a point of writing every week, though he never received a letter back.
They’re still miffed, no doubt. . . .
Thus was the way of things, he was discovering. You stake your claim with Christ and risk the loss of family and friends. He breathed in the familiar earthy tang of dirt and manure at the far perimeter of the field, near the edge of the forest, and tossed the weed from his callused fingers into the wood.
Narrow is the way.
But Reuben was not to be defeated, even though he was somewhat discouraged—a good, long reading of God’s Word should cure that.
Surely David is discouraged, too, day in and day out in that wheelchair,
he thought, wishing he might share the encouragement of scripture with the man.
“Help me have patience, Lord,” he prayed. “Soften David’s heart.”
Rhoda made a flourish of counting her tip money, raising her right hand high as she placed each bill on the pile. She was ever so glad she’d worked all of Saturday at the restaurant. Glad, too, her boss had noticed how conscientious and helpful she was, often offering to do things that other waitresses weren’t as willing to do, like sweeping the floor before closing time. Her customers appreciated her diligence, as well, and her attention to detail was paying off in better tips.
Now if she could only get her checkbook to balance. She glanced up, looking around at the room she’d managed to furnish with a bit of help from Mrs. Kraybill, who’d given her a small sofa and several lamps she’d had stored in the attic.
Even James and Martha had come through with an old bedstead, although it hadn’t come with a mattress. She’d had to purchase one outright, borrowing a small sum from Ken, which she hated to do. He was more than happy to help, but that fact didn’t make her any less discouraged. Truth was, she was in debt to the hilt. “I need a rich husband,” she said to herself with a little laugh.
Opening her notebook, she checked off each bill she was able to pay right now, too aware that the beginning of June was just around the corner.
I’m slowly going under,
she thought, adding up her obligations, including her rent to Ken. The hand-to-mouth existence was getting the better of her, and she wondered if she might manage to add more hours at the restaurant. Or better yet, get another housekeeping job.
She sighed. Adding more hours to her workweek meant less time to spend with Ken. He’d already begun to complain. “If I’m to persuade him to marry me, I need to be available to court,” she murmured.
To think I gave up a free room at James and Martha’s. Goodness, I did the same at my father’s house, too.
She pictured Nan and Nellie Mae out tending to the garden, working the soil and running the shop. Dat’s corn would be ankle-high by now, and there would be nights when her sisters fell into bed nearly too tired to put on their nightgowns. She had also known such fatigue. She was even tired now, but her weariness stemmed partly from a sense of great concern—even fear. Yet all was well, wasn’t it? She had her car, she’d gotten a man, and she had two good, albeit part-time jobs. But there seemed to be scant happiness to accompany all of that, and not a single dime had been saved toward her dreams of travel.
She found herself lying awake at night, thinking about Nan—had she gotten over the loss of her beau? Was Mamma still in deep mourning for a sister Rhoda rarely thought of anymore?
Sighing, she closed her notebook, going to the drawer where she kept Suzy’s journal. Opening it to the page she’d marked, she read:
“Be not faithless, but believing.”
She’d turned to the line more times than she cared to admit.
Suzy had been fascinated with doubting Thomas, as some referred to the disciple who couldn’t believe until he pressed his hand into the Lord’s wounded side. Evidently Suzy had been curious about the verse, too—enough so that she’d copied and underlined it.
Rhoda did wonder how Suzy had managed to go from dating a very worldly fellow to a nice Mennonite boy. She pondered her sister’s steps and missteps. The way she saw it, Suzy’s final months were a series of choices that made little sense.
At least she wasn’t broke like me.
Rhoda slipped her stash of money into an envelope for depositing on Monday, conscious of the sudden lump in her throat.
Nellie Mae meant not a speck of harm when she decided to open her heart to Nan and show her Suzy’s picture.
Nan blinked her eyes. “Ach, where’d you get this?” she gasped, leaning close to look.
Nellie plunged ahead, telling Nan that, at Zach’s insistence, Chris Yoder had given her the photo back in February, along with Suzy’s bracelet.
“He wanted you to have Suzy’s picture?” Nan regarded her like she’d done something sinful.
“He thought we might want it to remember her by,” she explained.
Nan refused to touch the picture, but she continued to look at it longingly, like it might disappear. “She seems so happy, doesn’t she?”
Nellie Mae couldn’t disagree. “I think she was.” She went on to say what Chris had told her about his younger brother and Suzy’s close relationship. “They loved each other dearly.”
Nan bit her lip, frowning. “I’m glad you showed me, but I almost wish I hadn’t seen it.”
“I never wanted to upset you. That’s why I’ve kept it secret till now.”
Nan scratched her head. “I honestly don’t know what to think.”
They both knew photographs were prohibited for the Old Order, but nothing had been said about whether or not they were allowed in the New Order church. “I’d rather not bring it up to anyone else,” Nellie said, still holding the picture. “I’d hate to part with it. I have to confess it’s become precious to me.”
Nan nodded, glancing at it again. “Maybe that’s why pictures weren’t allowed . . . before.”
“I’m not sayin’ that I couldn’t do without it.”
“Even so, do you wish you’d never seen it?” Nan leaned back on the bed, her head resting against the footboard, arms folded across her chest.
“It’s not an idol to me, if that’s what you mean.” She clasped the picture to her heart. “I’m sorry, Nan. I don’t mean to be short with you.”
Nan’s eyes were sober. “Maybe there’s more to it, sister.” She sat up quickly. “Hear me out before you jump to conclusions, all right?”
Nellie pushed a pillow behind her. “I’m listening.”
“Is that picture more dear to you because of Suzy . . . or because of who gave it to you?” Nan asked.
She should’ve seen that coming. “Well, if you’re accusing me of liking an Englischer just because he gave me Suzy’s picture—”
“I didn’t say that.”
She huffed. “In so many words, you did. You can’t deny it.”
Nan rose and stood at the window; then she slowly turned to face her. “Are you sayin’ you don’t care for this fancy fella?”
Nellie was hurt. “How could you think that?”
“I think it, sister, because I see it on your face.”
Nellie was stunned. Did Nan see or know something she herself did not realize?
Am I falling for Chris Yoder, of all things?
The Lord’s Day was a tiring one for Nellie Mae. And today Rebekah Yoder had returned home with the Fishers after the common meal, as she sometimes liked to do. Nellie was happy for Nan, who’d missed seeing her friend regularly now that Rebekah was helping her family during the day when she wasn’t working for the Ebersols.
Glad for some time to herself, Nellie curled up on her bed to answer circle letters as Nan and Rebekah’s happy chatter filtered down the hall.
She was most eager to write to Treva, and as soon as she finished her other letters, she started one to her Bird-in-Hand cousin.
