The Longing (7 page)
“Uh . . . jah.”
“You decent?”
She looked down at her bare toes and grinned.
All but my feet,
she thought
.
“Jah, I am.”
“Open the door, then.”
She did, and there stood her older brother in his pajamas and long blue bathrobe, his hair all
schtrubbich
. “Ach, it’s late,” she said quickly, hoping to ward off a confrontation.
“Late it is.” He leaned on the doorframe. “Why is it you can’t seem to abide by my house rules, Rhoda?”
She should’ve known he’d ask.
“You knew from the start I expected church attendance when you asked to stay here. That and your comin’ in before midnight . . . on weekdays, yet.” He stared at her, waiting for an answer.
“I’m in Rumschpringe.”
“That’s the old-time ordinance.” He inhaled slowly. “The Beachys are more strict with their young people, and honestly, I think it’s mighty gut.”
“You’re askin’ to know where I go and who I’m with?” Such a strange, new way.
“I never said that, but dating’s best left to the weekends . . . there’s sleep to be had and work to be done during the week, ya know.”
She knew, all right; the late nights were catching up with her. “It’s not up to me how late I get in. Not really.” She was thinking of Ken, who wouldn’t be any too pleased at an imposed curfew. He didn’t care much for her tying up her Sundays at Preaching service for hours, either. “And I’ve changed my mind about goin’ to church.”
“Oh? Returning to Preacher Manny’s?”
She paused, feeling almost embarrassed. “I’m goin’ nowhere. For now.” Once she and Ken were married and didn’t have to see each other so late at night, she might start attending again.
Maybe.
He frowned. “So this is how you got yourself kicked out at home, jah?”
Rhoda felt her face flush. “I’m twenty-two,” she said. “Shouldn’t I be able to live as I see fit?”
“Why, sure, as long as you find someplace else to do it. And I’ll give you a couple weeks to look.” He shook his head and turned to leave, muttering about not standing for rebellion under his roof.
Rhoda felt chagrined, even sad. But moments later, as she contemplated the new adventure before her, she secretly felt glad to soon be free of James’s expectations.
A small apartment is all I need,
she thought, both excited and terrified.
Nellie made her way out to the road for the mail Wednesday afternoon, carrying a letter for Cousin Treva to invite her and her sisters to Rosanna King’s upcoming Sister’s Day. She’d also taken the opportunity to ask about her grandparents, Dawdi Noah and Mammi Hannah. Nellie had been tempted to write,
Do they seem to miss us?
But it was best not to open that all up again since her parents’ last face-to-face attempt to convince them to move back home to Honey Brook. So long ago that January visit seemed—one Nellie had missed out on altogether, having stayed too long after the common meal to dote on baby Sadie, her brother Ephram’s infant daughter. The babe was already ten weeks old now.
Perhaps she should write to Mammi Hannah herself. She could begin by asking for a few of her best-loved recipes. There had been no need back when she saw her dear grandmother every week and could simply ask if she used butter crackers or biscuits in her cracker pudding, or pecans or walnuts in her morning glory muffins. But now that Mammi was clear over in Bird-in-Hand . . . Nellie sighed at the thought.
She was sure her mother especially missed seeing Dawdi and Mammi Fisher once a week, as was their typical pattern prior to the church split. They’d always sat together following Preaching, during the common meal of cold cuts, bread, and pies. She recalled sometimes slipping over to the table where Mammi Hannah and Mamma chatted with aunts and older cousins. Often Mammi Hannah talked of the “olden days,” when boards were put in bundling beds and girls never so much as raised their eyes to a fellow at Singings. Mammi Hannah told stories at quilting bees and canning frolics, too. Once, when she was in Rumschpringe, she sneaked off with a pony cart into town to visit an antique shop, where she’d bought an old, glittering brooch. She’d secretly worn it to bed on her cotton nightgown, taking it off when the sunlight peeked under the window shades, only to hide it beneath her mattress.
Nellie longed to hear Mammi’s stories once again. She missed her sweet, crooked smile and her soft laugh. But most of all, she felt less alone about having missed the mark with Caleb—her past sin all washed clean now—when she thought of Mammi Hannah’s girlhood pranks.
The Good Book said her heart was white as the driven snow, and deep inside, where no one could steal it away, Nellie had the promise of salvation. The knowledge brought her such joy she wanted to tell everyone.
Opening the mailbox, she discovered letters. Already! So she’d missed getting Treva’s letter out.
It’ll go tomorrow, then.
She looked through the mail and was happy to see a letter from Cousin Treva herself. “Well, look at this.” Thrilled, she hurried up the drive, toward the bakery shop.
“Anything interesting?” asked Nan when she entered.
“Treva wrote.” She handed the letters to her sister.
“Anything for Mamma?”
“Didn’t bother to look.” Nellie pushed Treva’s letter into her pocket, relishing the thought of reading it later.
“I’m afraid Mamma’s not feelin’ so well. I sent her to the house to lie down.”
“Oh? Something she ate?”
Nan shrugged. “Hard to say.”
“Maybe it’s
because of Emmie Yoder’s response to the food Mamma took over there. Sure would be upsetting to be turned away. . . .” Only someone as stubborn as the Yoders would turn down Nellie’s cooking. But Nellie dismissed the thought.
“Jah, rejected by folk who used to be our friends,” Nan added. “The Yoders haven’t heeded Uncle Bishop’s plea not to shun the New Order folk who left during the grace period.” Nan came to sit down at one of the small round tables with Nellie.
Nellie knew this all too well. “How’s Rebekah doin’, since she moved out?”
“Well, I know it’s awful hard living away from her family.” Nan glanced out the window, a faraway look in her eye. “And now this sad thing with her father. She must not know what to think. Or do.”
“Won’t she want to move home to help?” Nellie asked.
“Dat says David Yoder summoned Caleb to return home yesterday.”
She blushed suddenly. “He did?” This was the first she’d heard it.
Nan smiled kindly, reaching for her hand. “Honestly, Nellie Mae, you act like a girl in love.”
Embarrassed, she looked away.
Guess I still am. . . .
“Truth is, I believe I’m fallin’ in love myself. Little by little.” Nan began to share about her new beau—a fellow she’d met at Preacher Manny’s church—and Nellie was glad to listen. “He’s such a hard worker and bright as can be. Treats his driving horse so wonderful-nice—”
“And you, too, Nan?”
Nan nodded, her face rosy. “Ach, you just don’t know.”
“Well, I can imagine.” Nellie was more than happy for her sister. “I hope he keeps on bein’ kind and loving.”
“He is that.” Nan was nodding emphatically. “I have a feeling he’s the one.”
“So you’ll be tying the knot come weddin’ season?”
Nan’s eyes were bright with excitement. “Thank the dear Lord, is all I can say.” She put her hand on her heart. “I would never have believed a new love could nearly erase the sadness of the old.”
“Does this wonderful-gut fella have a name?”
Nan looked at her shyly all of a sudden. “I’d best be waitin’ to say.”
“Keepin’ secrets from your own sister?” She laughed; she’d expected as much.
“Jah, ’specially.” Nan gave her a mischievous smile and squeezed her hand. “I do love you, Nellie Mae. I’ll tell you in time, I promise.”
“Well, as long as you’ve promised . . .”
With that, Nan turned right into Nellie’s arms and gave her a joyful hug. Even so, Nellie couldn’t help but worry.
Will this one be Nan’s husband someday?
An hour later, after the bakery shop was closed and supper was laid out on the table—while they waited for Dat to come in from the barn—Nellie read Treva’s letter silently.
Dear Cousin Nellie,
I have so much to tell you.
First of all, we’ve built a new, smaller Dawdi Haus onto ours, and my great-grandparents are moving in. I couldn’t help but think of your grandparents this week, with all the hustle and bustle of getting my elderly relatives settled there. We do see Noah and Hannah every other Sunday at Preaching, and Mamma invites your grandmother to quilting frolics, too.
But I have something else even more important to share. Mamma’s told me of three expectant women— two in our Old Order church district, one New Order— who’ve heard the sad story of your dear friend, Rosanna King, and been moved to act. Each of them is offering to give her baby to your childless friend. Can you believe it? It does seem odd for me to be the one passing this news along, but Mamma assures me it’s all right to mention. In fact, she’d like for you to tell Rosanna yourself, close as you two are.
None of the women knows yet about the others, so I would think Rosanna could talk to each of them individually and then decide without anyone else ever needing to know. Mamma and I will keep this news quiet here.
Oh, I do hope it is right for me to tell you this, Nellie. See what your mamma says, though. There’s always safety in wise counsel.
Nellie groaned. If Treva had a mind to talk with Rosanna herself about this, Nellie would want to protect Rosanna, not sure her friend was ready to attempt to adopt another baby. She sighed, considering the amazing news. To think
three
mothers-to-be felt enough compassion for heartbroken Rosanna to bear a child for her and Elias!
Same as her cousin Kate Beiler . . .
Nan came over and stood nearby. “You feelin’ all right?”
She hated the thought of Rosanna’s going through what she had with her cousin again—first being promised a baby, then having the twins taken away. “Did I make a sound?”
“Jah, like you might be sick.”
Nellie smiled. “Well, I didn’t mean to.” She folded up the letter. No sense bringing Nan into this yet. “Is Mamma goin’ to eat supper with us?”
Nan turned. “I’ll check on her.”
Nellie resumed her reading, finishing her cousin’s remarkable letter. But the rest of the news—the division of a nearby church district due to growth, and farmers already seeding the oat crop—couldn’t compare to the notion of the Bird-in-Hand women wanting to give Rosanna a baby. And two of them were members of the old church. What on earth?
Do I dare tell Rosanna?
Long after dishes were done and Dat had read the Scriptures and led them in prayer, Nellie waited for a private moment with Mamma in the kitchen. At last Dat obliged by making himself scarce, going upstairs to retire for the night. Nan had already gone up.
“I’d like to ask you somethin’,” Nellie said before her mother could follow the others.
Mamma motioned for her to sit at the table.
After relating the contents of the letter, Nellie asked, “What should I do? I mean, think of it: This puts poor Rosanna in an awful place . . . you know, if something should happen and things fall through.”
“And things just might.” Mamma’s face was serious. “Sometimes the answer to our prayers isn’t always clear. Sometimes it’s ‘no,’ or ‘just trust.’ ”
Nellie smiled. Naturally her mother would think this. And the more Nellie learned from Manny’s sermons and her own Bible reading, the more she, too, would approach things similarly. “I’m most concerned for Rosanna’s frail state right now. She still cries, missing Eli and Rosie.”
“Well, it’s prob’ly too soon, then.”
“So I best keep mum on it?”
Mamma sighed, rubbing her neck as she thought it over. “You’d just hate to see her get thrown more sorrow on top of what she’s already suffered. Maybe just wait a bit . . . see if these women are truly serious.”
Nellie Mae fiddled with her cousin’s letter, considering Rosanna’s fragile heart. “If Treva and any of her sisters accept my invitation, they’ll be here next Saturday for Sister’s Day.”
“My goodness. I can’t remember the last time we saw her. Can you?”
Nellie shook her head. “We exchange letters so often it doesn’t seem that long ago, but I think it must be at least several years.”
Mamma stretched and yawned. “Too long, I ’spect.”
“Well, I best be headin’ for bed . . . there’s a little gathering
at Rosanna’s tomorrow, too. We’ll quilt some of her cradle quilts to give away.”
“She sure keeps herself busy, ain’t?”
“Maybe too busy, really.”
“Oh, but bein’ so is a real blessing when you’re grievin’,” Mamma said with a small smile. “It’s a real gut thing, truly ’tis.”
Nellie looked at her mother and knew she was speaking of herself.
Nellie was surprised to see Rebekah Yoder at Rosanna’s work frolic the next morning, given her father’s frail condition. Nevertheless she and six other young women had come for a few hours, all of them sitting around Rosanna’s kitchen table and working on separate cradle quilts of pale yellows, greens, and blues.
Rosanna’s sister-in-law Essie was not in attendance, nor were any of her other relatives from the old church. Nellie felt a twinge of sadness for Rosanna, who had once spoken of this very possibility—close relatives avoiding her and Elias because they’d embraced the New Order.
A hard price to pay . . .
Nellie had been visiting Rosanna each week since the return of her twin babies to their biological parents, John and Kate Beiler. And although Rosanna appeared strong, Nellie knew from the things her dear friend had shared that Rosanna still struggled terribly with the loss of little Eli and Rosie.
Such a brave and thoughtful thing for Rosanna to do, making baby quilts,
Nellie thought, sitting across from Rosanna, whose eyes were fixed on her quilt. Her slender fingers worked the fabric, the needle rapidly moving up and down. Rosanna donated the small quilts to Amish and Mennonite midwives, who presented them at the birth of a new baby. Though the quilts were meant to be anonymous, the grapevine suspected Rosanna, and if anyone asked, she did not shy away from acknowledging the truth.
