The Longing (25 page)
Sunday, June 1, 1967
Dear Treva,
It seems like a long time already since you visited here for Sister’s Day. I’m so glad we’ve had letters to stay in touch. Are you keeping busy? I surely am, what with the bakery shop and tending to the vegetables this year—our gardens are larger than ever. Hopefully, the Lord will see fit to bring them and our crops to a plentiful harvest.
Elias King has settled into his new role and is preaching some mighty fine sermons. I wish you could hear them!
Speaking of the Kings, you might already know this, but Rosanna has told me to share with you that she and Elias have accepted Lena’s offer of a baby. He’s due in the middle of September, the Lord willing. (They and Lena speak of him as a boy.) Rosanna and Elias have already named him Jonathan, which means “God’s gift.” It seems fitting, since it was my father’s cousin Jonathan Fisher who first shared the Good News over here in Honey Brook.
As for me, I am praying that Lena’s baby will be a strong and healthy child, whether a boy or a girl.
She stopped writing, careful not to share too much. Except for the midwife, Ruth Glick, Rosanna had told only Elias and Nellie that she was with child. Ruth had urged Rosanna to see a medical doctor, and Rosanna had agreed, not surprised when the doctor called for bed rest if further pains persisted. Her friend had confided to Nellie her daily fear that she might lose this baby after carrying him or her for four months—indeed, the longest time yet.
Nellie wondered if Elias viewed Lena’s baby as a cushion of sorts, so he and Rosanna would not be too devastated if they lost their own. Yet surely Rosanna would tell Lena at some point that she was also in the family way. And what then? Would Lena follow through with her offer?
Finishing her letter, Nellie placed it in her top drawer to mail later. She touched the small blue plate on her dresser, looking fondly at it.
Is Suzy’s picture—and everything I love of my sister’s—an idol?
She pulled the ever-present Kapp strings from her pocket. “Are these, too?”
She roamed about the room, going to the window to look out on the emerald fields as far as she could see, out to the lush rolling hills along the bright horizon. Had she fooled herself in believing she was past her grief?
Feeling restless, she went to ask Dat if she might take the family buggy out for a ride. As she hitched the horse to the carriage, she pondered what Nan had said about the expression on her face when she spoke of Chris Yoder.
She glanced at the bakery shop and recalled his last visit— if one could call it that. He had been all business as he chose a pie and then paid for it. But he had also looked her way more than necessary and lingered momentarily, as if there was something else on his mind.
She couldn’t deny how much she’d enjoyed their conversation in his car back in April. Sometimes she even wondered if he hoped to have another such chance.
The afternoon was perfect for a ride out toward the old mill to the east, and even though she should have known better than to drive down that particular road, she felt compelled to seek out the millpond and the treed area, in all of its green and resplendent beauty.
She hadn’t expected to see people walking along the millrace or near the old stone mill, but there was one couple holding hands, veiled a bit by the dense underbrush and leafy trees. Surprised that the sight of them didn’t upset her as it might have months ago, Nellie urged the horse along. Always before she’d felt so sad at what she and Caleb had lost . . . how separated they were by their beliefs.
Am I resigned at last to not having him in my life?
It did seem that things remained unsettled between her family and the Yoders. Her kind, caring father had been trying for over two months to visit with David—she’d heard Dat and Mamma discussing it enough times in the kitchen to know Dat had yet to meet with any success. Caleb’s father was hard to understand and seemingly unmovable. Was he so stubborn as to continue in his hardhearted ways even when dependent upon others for his daily needs?
Deep in thought and allowing the horse to lead her, Nellie was startled to see Caleb’s house coming into view. In a sudden panic, she slowed, searching for a quick turn to the left or to the right, but there were no crossroads. It was not a good idea to try to make a turn on this narrow road, although she recalled Caleb’s having done so one night last fall, both to her amazement and to Caleb’s obvious relief when he completed the dangerous maneuver.
“Ach, not good,” she muttered, wishing for her winter bonnet to hide her face as she approached the lane leading to the Yoders’ house.
Elizabeth or one of the girls had planted bright red and white geraniums in the front flower garden, along with pink coralbells and white Shasta daisies, too. The lawn was well manicured and edged along the walkways, showing no sign of neglect. She glanced toward the house and felt a twinge of sadness for David Yoder’s terribly altered life. She wished to tell the whole family just how sorry she was.
Yet I’m cut off from them. . . .
She thought not only of Caleb and his family but also of Rhoda and her strides into the world . . . and Ephram, holding fast to the Old Ways, much like the Yoders.
If only all the People could know the truth that ruled her own life:
The Lord’s dying breath has given me life.
She burst into tears, so great was the tenderness she felt toward those who still clung to tradition. With all of her heart, Nellie wished she could sit down and share with each one what the Lord meant to her.
Especially Caleb and his poor hurting family.
The days dragged on in one sense yet seemed to fly by in another. Caleb and his brothers weren’t needed nearly as often to move their father to the wheelchair, since Daed mostly stayed in bed. Even with continual treatment, their father’s and the doctors’ efforts seemed futile. And the realization that Daed’s health was declining struck Caleb mighty hard as he and Chris prepared for milking on this mid-June afternoon.
He and Chris had become good friends but, although there was much he wanted to tell his cousin, Caleb held back, lest he be misunderstood, especially where Nellie Mae was concerned. No matter how fond he was of Chris, his regrets over Nellie Mae were no one’s business. And anyway, his cousin smiled much too broadly for his liking whenever Nellie’s Simple Sweets was mentioned.
“My dad wants to visit your father,” Chris told him before leaving for home, after milking was done. “We could drop by this Sunday after church, if that’s okay.”
Caleb shook his head. “Well, I’d hate for you to make a trip out here for nothin’. You know how it is . . . Daed’s not so keen on visitors.”
“Well, we’re not talking about Reuben Fisher here. Wouldn’t your dad be more willing to see his own cousin?”
“Jah, prob’ly. Though it’s been a long time.”
“Wonder why they drifted apart.”
Caleb shrugged. He didn’t know but could guess—likely something to do with the ongoing debate over the
hope of
versus the
assurance of
salvation. But Daed wouldn’t mind so much what his fancy cousin believed. John wasn’t trying to change his colors like Reuben and Manny’s other followers had attempted to do.
Since Daed’s accident, Caleb had personally had to turn away numerous folk from the New Order church, none of them having been received even once. Daed had made his stand and wasn’t budging. Of course, with John Yoder being kin and all, who was to know? “Well, if you just drop by, maybe he would be more agreeable.”
Chris opened his car door and climbed in. “Then that’s what we’ll do.” He waved as the engine roared to life.
“See ya Sunday!” Caleb called, watching the car make the turnaround before heading down the lane toward the road. All the while, Chris’s arm stuck out of the window, held high in a sweeping gesture similar to Caleb’s own way of waving good-bye.
Sure hope Daed doesn’t turn them away.
Heading for the house, Caleb sat on the back stoop, staring down at Mamm’s handiwork there in the small garden near the walkway. Years ago, they’d pressed some of their old shoes into the soil, making little plant holders for petunias and marigolds. The shoes were holding up just fine, withstanding the wintry elements each year.
The sight of his outgrown boyhood shoes brought
back memories of better days.
Before Daed’s accident.
At times, when anger threatened to overtake him, he wished they’d sold away the offending mule. But Daed had been the one to insist they keep the animal. Far be it from Caleb to say otherwise.
Not aware of the hour, he looked up and saw Rebekah coming up the driveway on foot, carrying a cake holder. “Hullo,
Bruder
!” she called. “It’s almost suppertime, ain’t so?”
“You brought me some dessert?” He chuckled and rose to meet her, always glad to see his most cheerful sister. “What kind of cake?” He leaned down as they walked, comically trying to nose his way in for a peek.
“Now, you just wait and see.” She hurried toward the back door and then paused, a worried look on her face. “Tell me . . . how’s Daed doin’ today?”
He winced, dreading to say. “Not so good, I’m afraid.”
“The cake might perk him up.”
“It’ll take more than that.”
She grimaced. “I wonder if he’ll listen while I read my favorite Bible verses.”
“Well
, I
can read to him.” He caught himself, not wanting to reveal that he’d been curious to read for himself the chapter in John so many of the New Order folk had talked about at the outset of the split. Truth be told, Chris’s fondness for scripture had him thinking a bit.
She eyed him. “What’d you say?”
“The Good Book—anyone can read it to Daed. That’s all.”
She grinned at him, reaching for the door. “Well, what’s keepin’
you,
then?”
Her words haunted him all during supper. But each time he glanced toward the head of the table, it was all he could do to keep smiling, for his mother’s sake. And for his sisters’, too, surprised that Rebekah was permitted to partake of the meal with them.
Yet there was no getting around it: Daed was failing—weakening physically and emotionally—before their eyes.
Rhoda was delighted at the tenderness of the pork chops she’d made for Ken. There were mashed potatoes, gravy, and buttered carrots and peas. She’d baked dinner rolls, plump and flaky. More often than not, they ate supper by candlelight in his third-floor suite, where they enjoyed the view from the large windows and each other’s company.
Ken mentioned reading in the paper about a midair crash of two airplanes reported over the radio. Rhoda wondered,
Is he trying to discourage my dream of traveling by plane?
“Many people were killed.” He picked up his knife to cut his meat.
“That’s dreadful,” Rhoda agreed, “but it doesn’t scare me away from wanting to fly. Maybe if I had children, I would think differently, but—”
He looked up at her sharply. “Old Order Amish girls don’t fly . . . it’s against their upbringing.”
“But I’m finished with that life,” she said.
“Are you?” He narrowed his eyes. “Finished with the God-thing, the apron strings, the brats, the whole nine yards?”
She felt her lips part but was shocked into silence. She was only leaving the Old Order. She’d never said she had given up God or her dreams of a family.
He searched her face. “Well? Are we through with all the hints about kids?”
She felt as frustrated as she’d ever been in her life. Getting up, she walked to the sliding-glass doors, staring out at the grill and the plush patio furniture. Everywhere she looked, things were colorful, pretty, neatly arranged. Ken had plenty of money, certainly. Why didn’t he want plenty of children? At least a few? She struggled not to cry.
She felt his gaze on her and glanced back at him.
“You look like you’re going to be ill,” he said.
“When I think of the life my family would have me live, I do feel sick. But when I think about the kind of life you seem to want . . . with no little ones, I feel just as ill. If not more so.”
Hadn’t Ken been the one to say life was what you made it? Well, she was determined to make a life with him. She straightened her shoulders and took a deep breath. “I want to have a family someday.” She turned to face him. “A big family.”
He frowned. “It’s a dead issue, Rhoda. There is no room for debate on kids, I can assure you.”
Now she was crushed. “What’s so terrible about babies?” Her neck was hot. Why did he feel so strongly about this?
He sat tall and still at the table. “I thought you wanted to leave all that outdated tradition behind you. Be a modern woman.”
“I never said that. Sure, I wanted to make a new life for myself . . . and then I met you, Ken. It seemed like our friendship was meant to be. Providential, as my people say.”
He scrutinized her; then he shook his head in disgust. “Come on, Rhoda. There is no such thing as ‘providential.’ God is just a comfortable myth. We’ve talked about this before. Your family really brainwashed you, didn’t they?” He crumpled his napkin and tossed it down.
“No.” Tears filled her eyes. She knew he wasn’t fond of their long Preaching services, but how could he not believe in God himself? No matter how hard she had tried to embrace Ken’s views, she simply could not dismiss the reality of the Creator.
“What did you think? That you could change my mind?” She cringed at the cutting tone of his voice. “Change
me
?”
She wouldn’t confess she’d thought that very thing. She wouldn’t tell him she’d been sure, once they were married, she could convince him what a wonderful father he’d be. Or that she’d imagined the two of them and their children attending church together. How stupid she felt now. How deceptive. “I’m sorry, Ken. It was wrong of me to let things go so far between us.”
“No,” he said quickly. “I was wrong . . . to think this could ever work out.” He sighed loudly. “I just don’t seem to understand women—ever!”
She groaned audibly, and Ken glared at her. But she had no more to say, so she walked to the door. “I’ll let myself out.”
