The Longing (32 page)
Rhoda gave her a sharp look. “Are you here to ask me to come home?” she said. “Mamma has, you know—a couple times. I wondered if she’d sent ya, maybe.”
Still hesitant to speak her mind fully, Nellie Mae turned the juice glass around, staring at it. “It’d sure put a big smile on Mamma’s face, I know. Nan’s and Dat’s, too. But since you haven’t joined church, that’s all up to you.”
“Honestly, I couldn’t go back even if I wanted to.” Rhoda explained she’d signed a year’s lease with her landlord.
Dat had taught them well—there was no sense in talking about breaking a legal promise—or any promise, for that matter. “So, after a year’s up, would ya consider it?”
Rhoda shrugged and glanced away, toward the vast green meadow visible through the window. “ ’Tween you and me, I hope to find me a nice husband by then.” But she looked ever so glum now. “Though I haven’t had much luck with that yet, either.”
“I could say the same.” Nellie offered a small smile as she rose from the table. “Denki for the juice. Sorry to keep you from work.”
“Tell Nan I think of her a lot.” Rhoda touched her arm. “Tell Mamma, too.”
“Well, you’re not a stranger—you could tell them yourself.”
There was a faraway look in Rhoda’s pretty green eyes, and Nellie wanted to throw her arms around her.
If only she wasn’t so stubborn . . . bent on her own way.
Together the two sisters walked out the back door and down toward the narrow road. Nellie buttoned up her lip, finding it mighty curious that Rhoda had clearly forgotten about the cleaning she was being paid to do.
In spite of having declined yet another date from Chris, Nellie hoped he might stop in at the bakery shop that Thursday afternoon. Just as before, Mamma and Nan made themselves conspicuously scarce near the time he usually appeared.
Chris strode up rather comically, offering his familiar grin. “How’s the prettiest baker in Honey Brook?” he asked, his eyes serious.
Blushing, she looked away.
Chris pointed to the notebook on the counter. “Are these your recipes?”
“Jah. I was just adding to them.” She was relieved his intense gaze was no longer focused on her. “S’pose I should just put together a little book as you said, since so many customers have asked.”
“If you want to, I could help you print and bind it. I know someone who could help us.”
Us?
He wanted to include himself in the imaginary project? There was no question that he was thoughtful . . . even sweet. And she felt more certain than ever that he liked her—he wouldn’t keep coming by every week if he didn’t.
“Denki, Chris . . . that’s nice of you.”
He smiled, pausing before continuing. “Have you thought any more about going to the tabernacle meeting?” Before she could respond, he added, “I’d like to take you—considering I was the one who first invited Suzy there last spring.” He explained how he’d given Suzy the flyer, inviting her to the meetings. “But maybe your sister wrote about that, too.”
Nellie nodded.
Should I give in?
The whole time he stood there, Chris never once looked at either the pies or the delicious cookies. And when he didn’t ask again, she hoped she hadn’t miffed him. Sure, she wanted to go. Despite all the reasons she’d talked herself out of another date before, she was secretly glad he’d come by to ask again.
“Thanks for invitin’ me,” she said softly, unable to avoid his clear gaze.
“Then, you’ll go?” His eyes twinkled with irrepressible delight.
Nellie couldn’t keep from smiling her joyful reply.
The days following his father’s funeral were heavy with heat, humidity, and strenuous work—threshing small grains took up the hours from dawn to dusk, as well as hoeing the tobacco patches. Caleb’s extended family pitched in and helped with both as Amish and English farmers up and down the road continued cultivating their potato fields and cornfields.
Stifling hot evenings were spent outdoors with picnic blankets spread on well-trimmed lawns. Amidst the creak of rocking chairs and hushed chatter of teenagers, Caleb’s nephews and nieces chased lightning bugs, putting them in canning jars. An occasional harmonica tune wafted over the dense midsummer air as the family sat on the porch, trying to escape the heat and longing for sundown. Nights were nearly as muggy as the daylight hours, bringing little relief. Those sleeping in upstairs bedrooms were sometimes forced to shed their nightclothes, hoping for the slightest breeze.
Caleb found the absence of his father surprisingly difficult. Daed’s last words still stirred in his memory. More than once, while sitting in his room next to the open window late at night, he had reached for a pen and paper to start a letter to Nellie Mae. He wanted to share his keen understanding of her loss of Suzy more than a year ago. He longed to tell her that his love for her remained, that he missed her more than his words dared communicate.
Each time, though, he realized again how futile it was to attempt to link across the short distance to her. And with that knowing came the wadded-up paper and the aggravation of realizing the gulf between
them was much too wide now. Besides, according to the grapevine, Nellie had already moved on—attending Singings with the New Order church youth. He’d even heard she’d been seen out with an Englischer. Was she taking the same path as Suzy? After all, she was every bit as pretty.
And truly delightful in every way . . .
But it was past time to forget her. And there was no time at present to think of courting anyone new, not till after the laborious tobacco harvest was past . . . if even then.
Nellie Mae walked beside Chris up the narrow aisle to take seats on the rustic benches at the little tabernacle at the Tel Hai Campground. The wooden platform was low and smaller than she’d envisioned from Suzy’s account, but it was the fervor in the singing that captured her attention as many young couples and other folk crowded into the open-air meeting. She was happy to be outside on such a warm Saturday evening, although thunder rumbled in the distance.
The sermon text was the nineteenth chapter of Job: “ ‘Oh that my words were now written! Oh that they were printed in a book! That they were graven with an iron pen and lead in the rock for ever! For I know that my redeemer liveth, and that he shall stand at the latter day upon the earth: And though after my skin worms destroy this body, yet in my flesh shall I see God. . . .’ ”
As the evangelist explained the verses, she realized his conversational style was similar to Preacher Manny’s. Nellie was grateful to be in a church where the preaching was vital for daily living. Thinking of the verse just read, she thanked the Lord once more for bringing David Yoder to the knowledge of salvation . . . just in time, too.
Sitting next to Chris, she imagined what Suzy might have felt, coming here the first time . . . the evening she’d felt so uneasy. Thankfully, she had returned a second time and answered the Savior’s call at the altar up front.
After the final prayer, people began to rise and Nellie noticed quite a few Amish couples, the girls in their long cape dresses and aprons. There were Mennonites, too, some of the girls wearing the formal head covering, others without the Kapp, their hair pulled back in a loose bun.
Later, on the drive to the ice cream shop in Honey Brook, Chris asked if going to the tabernacle had made her sad . . . because of missing Suzy. He mentioned that he’d seen her cry several times.
“I wasn’t thinkin’ so much of my sister as I was David Yoder’s family. Elizabeth, ’specially . . . and poor Caleb.”
“Well, he seemed all right today when I saw him during milking. Grieving, yes, but not openly.”
She sniffled at the mention of her former beau. “It’s just that . . . well, Caleb’s been through a lot this year.” She didn’t know how much Chris and Caleb talked. Did he even know Caleb had been sent away by his father?
“He’s shared a few things.”
She wondered if Chris knew about her and Caleb’s breakup. “We were once engaged,” she admitted. “But then our church broke apart.”
Chris’s smile vanished. “So you’re the girl. . . .” His voice sounded pinched, even pained.
She felt uncomfortable—she wouldn’t be rude and go on about how they’d met or how long they’d courted. Chris was her date tonight.
“What happened . . . after the church split, I mean?” he asked.
“Well, Caleb wanted me to keep to the Old Ways.”
“So you came to the Lord after the church folk scattered?”
“Jah, and strange to say it, but the Lord came between Caleb and me. That’s all I’d best say.”
Chris became uncommonly quiet as they drove the moonlit back roads. She realized she’d upset him somehow.
Some time later, he said, “I’m sorry for Caleb—losing his father . . . and his girl.” Chris looked over at her, his gaze lingering.
“I’m glad he has you for a friend, Chris.” She went on to say that she prayed daily for Caleb to know the Lord.
“So do I,” he admitted.
When they arrived at the ice cream shop, she hoped they might talk about other things. She didn’t want the evening to end on a sad note, especially after having enjoyed the service so much—and Chris’s company.
“What flavor will it be tonight?” he asked as they approached the counter.
She eyed the many choices on the board behind the counter. “Strawberry sounds good. Denki.”
“Branching out a little, I see.” He placed her order and then paused. “I’ll have what you had last time—it looked so good.”
They found a table in the back, more private than before, and she was quite relieved when he made not a single further mention of Caleb.
Later, when Chris drove her home, Nellie noticed he took the long way, as he’d done before. She enjoyed the starry sky and the moonlight on the fertile fields while soft music played on his radio. It was impossible to justify accepting another date from him, but goodness, he looked her way nearly as often as Caleb had when they rode out on nights like this in his open buggy.
“I’d like to see you again, Nellie Mae,” he said as he parked along the wide shoulder, near her house.
“You mean next Thursday at the shop?” She couldn’t keep her smile in check.
“Yes, that too.” He got out and came around to open her door. “I’ll walk you down the road a ways, okay?”
“Nice of you, Chris . . . but it’s a plenty bright night.”
“Well, is it all right if I want to?”
She wouldn’t think too far ahead. She’d simply relish this moment. How she’d enjoyed this special night filled with memories of Suzy and her faith . . . and ice cream with Chris. Somewhere, in the back of her mind, was the constant thought of her former beau, but she pushed it away. Feelings for Chris Yoder had grown in her heart in such a short time.
What does it mean? Am I finally over Caleb?
Rosanna King sat alone at the kitchen table, looking out at the glow of the moon on waist-high corn that ran in long, even rows beyond the side yard. To keep the insects from flapping and fluttering against the window, she’d decided against lighting the gas lamp. Besides, it was ever so late to be up.
She had painful cramping again tonight, although she couldn’t tell if it was due to the baby or indigestion. The midwife had suggested saltine crackers at such times, so here she sat nibbling on one—snacking and praying.
Visions of a funeral and burial threatened her peace. If she were to have a stillbirth now, she would have to endure both, being so much farther along. But on the brighter side, if all went well, in just ten more weeks, their baby would be safe in her arms.
Will you allow me this miracle, Lord?
Lena had written another very encouraging letter, including a prayer she’d composed just for Rosanna. So touched was she by it, Rosanna had tucked it into the pages of her Bible to reread whenever she felt the panic lurking.
Here lately she did not suffer from panic as much as she did fatigue. So far she had spent nearly half the day in bed and was becoming quickly weary of it. Even so, she was willing to do more than that for her precious babe.
If Elias wasn’t so busy with tilling potato fields, she might mention the need for a short trip to the doctor again. But making even that drive frightened her. Perhaps she’d ask Linda Fisher to use her telephone to call the midwife tomorrow when Linda stopped by with lunch. Or, better yet, stay to pray with her yet again. Truly, the Beachy woman who’d first introduced Rosanna to the idea of salvation full and free was as dear as any believer she knew.
Meanwhile, she ate crackers, letting the salty blandness soothe her stomach and hoping . . . praying these alarming spasms might cease.
On his way to Elias King’s, Reuben passed three vegetable stands and a child’s deserted bicycle with its small wicker basket dangling from the handlebars. Today he would till Elias’s twenty acres of corn with a team of eight mules. He knew by the warmth of the dawn that this next-to-last day of July would be a scorcher.
Should be done by sunset.
He’d awakened earlier than usual to finish up some of his own chores before heading to Elias’s. Knowing he’d have little time to rest today, he leaned back in the buggy seat as he rode, taking in the fields, verdant and thriving, in all directions. It sure looked to be a good year for potatoes and corn . . . even tobacco for the old church farmers who were still growing it. Thus far, God was answering prayer for a bountiful harvest.
When he came within shouting distance, he was glad to see lights in the Kings’ kitchen windows, which meant Rosanna might be up and feeling better.
Soon, though, he discovered it was Elias who was making himself some oatmeal and toast. “Rosanna’s plumb tuckered out,” Elias told him. “Doctor wants her in bed till the baby comes.”
“Must be awful hard on her, seein’ how the summer’s been so hot.”
Elias nodded, finishing up his breakfast. “Still, we’re not nearly as bad off as we were last year round this time.”
Remembering the severity of the drought, Reuben finished the coffee Elias had poured for him. “Looks like this year could be different, Lord willin’.”
