The Longing (33 page)
“Let’s be mighty thankful for that.” Elias wiped his mouth on his sleeve. “Best be getting to work, jah?”
Reuben carried his coffee mug to the sink before he followed him outdoors. On the way up the earthen ramp to the second story of the bank barn, Elias asked if he would remember Rosanna in prayer. “Truth be told, her health—and the baby’s—are in the back of my mind all the time.”
Reuben promised to pray. “The Lord sees the desire of your heart—yours and Rosanna’s.”
“I’ll try to keep that in mind.” Elias nodded. “Denki.”
“Anytime, preacher.”
They were driving home from the nursery on a day Chris had worked in the landscaping office.
Zach yawned loudly, leaning back on the headrest. “I helped Dad put together a knock-out landscaping plan today. He seemed pleased,” he said. “Looks like I’ve got my focus back.”
“Great to hear it. Would you mind if I asked you something about you and Suzy?” asked Chris.
“Fire away.”
“Did you guys ever talk about your future—how to make it work if you were to marry someday?”
Zach’s head popped back up. “Where’d that come from?”
“The culture clash, you know. Wondered how that would fly.”
“Easy. Suzy was finished with Amish life.”
“You knew this?”
“Sure.” Zach stretched his right arm out the open window, yawning again. “She was all geared up to leave. Just didn’t know how to switch from wearing Plain clothes to more modern ones without causing an uproar at home.” Zach frowned, facing him. “Why are you asking?”
Chris didn’t want to say.
“Hey, fine, go ahead and clam up.” Zach folded his arms across his chest.
Chris was surprised Zach was so sure about Suzy’s plan for going modern. He couldn’t imagine Nellie Mae as anything but Amish. Oh, he’d tried, but he was sure that wasn’t happening— not in his head, and not in reality. She was so Plain, in fact, it was a waste of time to think of her otherwise.
So, if I’m to keep seeing her, I might need to grow a beard. . . .
He grinned at the image of himself decked out like an Amishman, but he had no interest in joining the horse-and-buggy crowd.
If only he’d thought all this through before he’d fallen so hard . . . but then he might have missed his chance to get to know her at all.
Frustrated as Chris was, he wouldn’t deny his feelings. He needed to figure things out—the sooner, the better.
Betsy was surprised and elated to see her mother-in-law at a pickling bee over at Martha’s the first week in August. Several women had gathered to put up dills and bread-and-butter pickles, with Martha and the two younger women making and stirring the hot brine, while Betsy and Hannah prepared the cucumbers. Little Emma and her younger brothers got underfoot in their efforts to help, creating lots of chuckles all around.
It had been such a long time since she’d seen Hannah. She sat right next to her and they chattered nearly all morning. Glad for a bit of a break from the bakery shop, she asked Hannah what had brought her here today—it was rare that she or Noah ventured this direction anymore.
“Oh, I’ve been missin’ Honey Brook, is all. Seemed like a good time to take Martha up on her invitation.” A small, sad smile played across her wrinkled face. “And Noah and I wanted to offer our sympathy to Elizabeth after we heard of David Yoder’s passing.”
Betsy didn’t want to get her hopes up, but she was glad to see her mother-in-law accepting an invitation from family to visit again—from a Beachy home, no less. She wished they’d move back.
Where they belong
. After all, the Dawdi Haus was still vacant. And even if Reuben’s parents wouldn’t consider living with them, there was always Ephram and Maryann, who’d remained firmly planted in the old church.
She contemplated again David Yoder’s conversion and had a strong belief that Elizabeth might soon follow in his footsteps. Elizabeth had asked her meaningful questions following the burial service, and Betsy had shared with her some of the verses that had touched her so deeply in the third chapter of the gospel of John.
God’s Word will accomplish the good pleasure of the Lord,
she thought, recalling another favorite passage she’d discovered recently in Isaiah. She trusted it would be true for dear Elizabeth and the rest of her family.
Food, and lots of it, brought her such comfort here lately, despite the fact that she’d already gained a good five pounds—pounds Rhoda had dropped with great effort and satisfaction in the previous months. But with bills pouring in, including the latest, for the small television she’d impulsively purchased, she’d immediately turned to food, especially the grease-laden fast food she craved. In any case, eating kept her from crying . . . over the loss of Ken and Ted and all the uncaring Amish boys who’d ever looked her way, only to reject her.
She sobbed about being stuck in Strasburg, with the long drive to work at both the restaurant and the Kraybills’, and she cried because she had no one to talk to, missing her cozy sisterly chats with dearest Nan. When she was wholly honest with herself, she even admitted missing Dat’s long, drawn-out nightly Bible reading.
Leaving the restaurant after work on this blazing afternoon, Rhoda was tempted to make a left-hand turn and head out east, toward Beaver Dam Road.
For old time’s sake.
But did she really want to return there?
The thought of having to let her hair grow back—that miserable middle part and tight bun—made her squirm. And the unstylish dresses and the long black aprons she’d worn whether cooking or not. What was the apron for, anyway? She wore one at the restaurant and at the Kraybills’, but there was a reason for it when she was working. Even then, she could scarcely wait to untie it and toss it into the hamper the minute she was finished for the day.
Thinking of Mrs. Kraybill, she had a hankering to stop in and talk to her. After all, the woman had encouraged her flight to the world in every imaginable way. Without her influence, who knew where Rhoda might be today.
Most likely not living in a second-floor room, hearing her former beau clomp around overhead while he played his music too loud— up there living his happy, single, and childless life, content to be without her.
All this time I thought he cared. . . .
Sighing, Rhoda fought back tears and drove straight to the house where she’d once hidden this beautiful car she drove. Where all of her fancy ideas had gotten their start.
His mouth parched from a long day in the sun, Caleb went to the well and pumped several cupfuls of water, gulping them down. Hungry for supper, he headed to the house to rinse the rest of the grime off his hands.
Leah and Emmie were setting the table, carrying food over from the cookstove. “Where’s Mamm?” he asked, going to the sink.
Emmie glanced his way, a worried expression on her face. “She’s in Daed’s old room.”
Concerned, he dried his hands and tossed the towel onto the counter. He found her kneeling at Daed’s bedside, weeping.
Placing a hand on her shoulder, he stood there silently. He’d never seen her cry like this before, and it convicted him for his own lack of sorrow. He was sorry about his father’s death—it wasn’t that—and he missed Daed’s presence in the house. But he hadn’t wept. Not at the burial, where he’d helped shovel heavy clumps of dirt into the gaping hole for Daed’s coffin, nor at the surprisingly unorthodox funeral service.
He waited while Mamm dried her eyes and rose to sit on the edge of the bed. Patting the spot next to her, she gave him a smile.
“You all right, Mamma?”
She sighed. “I’m glad you’re here. There’s something your father told me. . . . I can’t get it out of my mind.”
Had his own mother also endured sleepless nights with Daed’s words turning continually in her head?
“Your Daed kept sayin’, ‘Preacher Manny was right,’ until I didn’t know what to think.” Profound grief was evident in her eyes, and deep lines marked her face. “But it was his tears, Caleb—he couldn’t stop lamenting. He urged me to attend the new church . . . said I would find what he’d been missin’ till the last few weeks of his life.”
Caleb understood her confusion. He, too, still struggled to grasp that his father—the man who had forbidden him to marry Nellie Mae—had embraced the very faith that had once made Nellie and her family unsuitable in his eyes. How could it be? How could a hard, stubborn man like his father change so drastically?
“I’m honestly thinkin’ of going this Sunday,” Mamm said.
Startled by this, he wished he might persuade her differently. “What’ll the bishop say?”
“Well, I’ve talked to his wife, Anna, already. Seems the bishop has taken to heart much of what Preacher Manny shared at the funeral.”
This made not a smidgen of sense. How could it?
“Anna and the bishop have been reading together every night,” she whispered.
He held his breath. “Reading what?”
“The Good Book, of course.” She referred to it in reverent tones, just the way Nellie Mae had . . . the way Chris did.
“Well, I read it, too, but I’m not thinkin’ of switching churches. Are you, Mamm . . . truly?”
She covered her mouth, trembling.
“Ach, don’t tell me . . .”
“I just know if your father hadn’t been injured—if he was robust and healthy and alive today—he wouldn’t have talked that way. God used his paralysis—and his impending death— to lead him to accept new life . . . eternal life.”
He looked at her. “You believe this for truth?”
Nodding, her eyes glistened again. “Never more than now.”
Sitting here in the room where his father’s life had ebbed away, Caleb wished he’d at least made some attempt to confess his deception during the latter days of courting Nellie Mae. And the shifty way he’d handled things, willing to do anything to get his father’s land. But he’d let the moments tick away, not heeding the inner nudging.
And I let Daed die without knowing that I freely forgave him.
“Daed confessed his shortcomings toward me. I should’ve done the same,” he said quietly. “I just never thought he would slip away so fast.”
She listened, reaching for his hand. “I’m ever so sorry.”
“Should’ve made things right when I had the chance.”
She leaned her head on his shoulder. “That’s exactly what your father told me, Caleb. ‘Make things right with the Lord while time’s on your side. . . .’ ”
In the solemn stillness, Caleb was keenly aware of his own lack of time. Did he dare wait for the light of truth Nellie Mae had told him about, there in her shop? Did he know without a doubt—
who could possibly know?
—he would survive a mule kick to the head? Or any other freak farm accident, for that matter, and not be plunged into eternity without God?
“If the Son therefore shall make you free, ye shall be free indeed.”
Was it possible? Could he, too, have the assurance of eternal life, just as Daed had so urgently declared?
“I oughta think good and hard ’bout this,” he whispered.
Nellie Mae suggested Mamma sit out on the front porch with her, wanting to just relax and look out over the neatly trimmed front lawn. Down on the road, market wagons traveled back and forth, and there were several young children on scooters.
Dragonflies settled on the pond across the way as dusk played hide-and-seek with the sun. And dark, rich soil peeked out between the rows of corn to the north. Far to the horizon, the ridge of hills turned slowly gray, then black, as the sun made its slide to earth.
“I’ve been wantin’ to show you something, Mamma.” Slipping her hand into her pocket, she pulled out the secret picture. “It’s Suzy,” she whispered.
Mamma gasped. “Oh, goodness!” Her mother held it away from her eyes, squinting a bit. “Well, doesn’t she look happy?”
“Her beau took this picture before she drowned,” said Nellie quietly.
Mamma sniffled. “Did ya ever see such a sweetness in her eyes?”
Nellie clasped her mother’s hand and they were still for a long moment, sharing the secret that had troubled Nellie so.
“Oh, I can’t tell you how nice it is seein’ her face again,” Mamma said.
“What must I do with this—now that you know I have it?” Nellie asked. “Does the New Order prohibit such things? I’ll be starting baptism instruction next week, ya know.”
“Well, if it was just me, I’d say if you don’t sit and stare at it, or let it come ’tween you and the Lord”—Mamma smiled now—“you might keep it in your Bible, maybe. A good reminder of what Suzy’s dyin’ brought us.” Mamma reached into Nellie’s dress pocket and pulled out Suzy’s Kapp strings. “As if you need another souvenir, jah?”
Together they smiled knowingly, and their laughter rose and scattered on the wings of twilight.
Chris was heading for the car after finishing up the milking with Caleb.
“Hey, don’t leave just yet,” Caleb called to him. “I’d like to show ya something in my room.”
“Sure, but I have some college paper work
to do with my dad, so I’ll need to get going.”
“It’ll only take a minute.”
Upstairs, on his dresser, Caleb showed him the deed to Daed’s land. “Man, is this some relic or what!” Chris said, noticing the yellowing around the edges.
“Passed down through the generations.” Caleb’s smile extended from ear to ear. “My father wanted me to have it— Abe just brought it by.”
Chris looked out the window and whistled. “Wow—what do you plan to do with all the land?”
“Well, grow cash crops, for certain, and have plenty of grazing land for the dairy cows. Maybe raise horses, like Reuben Fisher.”
Like Reuben . . .
Chris caught the curious glint in his cousin’s eyes.
He’s still thinking of Nellie Mae.
“What about tobacco?” He was curious, knowing that the crop had been the family’s staple for generations.
“Well, tobacco harvest is comin’ up fast . . . but after this year, I’m not sure.” Caleb motioned for him to take a seat near the open window. “Mamm’s urging me to raise other crops . . . hoping I’ll make the right choice on that.” He went to sit on the edge of his bed. “To be blunt, plenty’s goin’ to change round here . . . and right quick, too.”
