The Longing (8 page)
Nellie pondered again Cousin Treva’s letter.
So surprising.
Still, she couldn’t imagine opening up that precarious door only to have it slam shut again, as she and Mamma had discussed last night. Rosanna’s cousin Kate had broken her heart, and Nellie did not want to be a party to a repeat of any such thing.
Nevertheless, there was the niggling thought in the back of her mind that perhaps she was making a mistake in not telling Rosanna the astonishing news. If she did keep it quiet and her dear friend got wind of it later—perhaps from Treva herself—would Rosanna be hurt to discover that Nellie had known?
Shifting in her chair, she forced her thoughts to Rebekah, who sat next to Rosanna at the table. Seeing her made Nellie wonder if Rebekah was permitted to help her dear mother, who must need her now more than ever.
What about Caleb? Surely he, too, is suffering under this new burden.
Nellie felt downright tense, with a hint of a headache. She tilted her head back and forth before returning her attention to stitching up the rest of the baby quilt.
As time passed, the talk around the table became surprisingly cheerful. It was as if they were making a conscious effort to avoid the painful topic of David Yoder’s accident.
Looking about the table, Nellie realized that each one present called herself a saved believer. The awareness brought her joy, and she took pleasure in the feel of the needle between her fingers and the pretty colors in the fabric, all remnants from other quilting projects. Some as old as four years, back when Rosanna was a young bride of only seventeen.
The chatter slowed some, and when all that could be heard was the pulling of thread through fabric and the snipping of scissors, Rosanna spoke up, inviting all of them to her planned Sister’s Day. “Bring along your sister or a close friend and
her
sister, of course. We’ll have us a
wunnerbaar-gut
time with a light lunch at noon and plenty of pies.” Smiling, she looked right at Nellie, who nodded and let her know she’d be happy to bake a half dozen or so different kinds.
Rosanna’s smile broadened. “We all know how delicious our Nellie’s pies are, ain’t so?”
This brought a round of smiles and bobbing heads, and Nellie felt a bit embarrassed, though her heart warmed anew for Rosanna. Such a precious friend deserved the happiness of many children.
Just as Mamma had—nine in all.
Nellie wondered if anyone had ever offered a healing prayer for Rosanna—the kind Preacher Manny spoke of in his very practical sermons. Nellie wouldn’t be so bold to ask Rosanna unless the subject came up naturally . . . and only if they were alone, just the two of them. Yet in her heart, she felt impressed to add Rosanna’s healing to her growing prayer list. The Lord God could strengthen her friend and enable her to carry a baby to term. Prayer was the best gift Nellie could offer.
Chris Yoder headed outside to the school parking lot to his car, especially enjoying his off-campus privileges during lunchtime. Today he was hungry for a big juicy hamburger and some hot French fries with salt and pepper. While he ate, he planned to scan the paper for his current events class this afternoon, since he hadn’t had time to catch up last evening.
Physics,
he groaned inwardly, wondering why some teachers had to pile it on.
On the way out for some fast food, he passed the Honey Brook Restaurant and the idea taunted him again—was he bold enough to ask Nellie Mae Fisher to his graduation banquet? Why this nagging thought, despite his every attempt to brush it away?
The whole situation was strange.
First Zach falls for an Amish girl . . . and then I meet her sister.
How wise was it to even consider getting to know Nellie better? He could imagine what his father would say, but not Zach. He didn’t need his younger brother to remind him that his interest was laughable. Actually, Zach might even be troubled by any reminder of the girl he’d lost. It didn’t help that Nellie Mae was Suzy’s sister.
Settling in with his lunch, he scanned the front-page headlines. Escalating soldier casualties in the Vietnam War and the upcoming Eastern Division finals between Philly’s 76ers and the Boston Celtics got top billing.
Chris flipped over to the local-news section and stopped to read an article about an Amish farmer who’d survived a kick to the head by his mule. Longtime dairyman David D. Yoder of west Honey Brook had been left tragically paralyzed by the freak accident.
“David Yoder?” he said aloud.
Dad’s cousin!
He scanned the column again. It had been some years since his family’s last trip to the Amish farm, but he hadn’t forgotten their many Saturday afternoon visits. Staring out the window, he remembered flying through the barn on the rope swing with Caleb and his older brother Jonah. He had forked hay into the stable area for the new calves, too, and helped with milking chores, much to the amazement of the boys—and their parents. Cows were very sensitive to strangers, but they’d taken to Chris like he was one of Caleb’s brothers.
He’d been nine or ten the last time, a Saturday before the Yoders were to host Preaching service. He remembered the excitement as the Amish bench wagon pulled up to the house. The men had removed all the walls on the main floor of the Yoders’ house before hauling in long wooden benches to set up a temporary place of worship. The wagon contained piles of Amish hymnals, too, and dozens of extra dishes for the big meal afterward.
Chris and his own brothers quickly became as caught up in the fun of the preparations as his many cousins. The Yoders had provided popcorn and cold apple cider for everyone who helped, and he and Caleb—the cousin closest to him in age— had enjoyed more than their fair share. While Chris’s older brothers pitched in to help, he and Zach had played hide-and-seek with Caleb under the benches as they were stacked in the yard.
Chris wondered how much had changed since the days of his own Grandpa Yoder, who’d left the Amish to marry an English girl. Because Grandpa hadn’t joined the Amish church, he had not been shunned, and Chris’s father’s family could visit their Plain relatives whenever they pleased.
Suddenly curious to drive out to the Yoder farmhouse, Chris also felt compelled to offer his help during this trying time.
And I wouldn’t mind seeing Caleb again,
either.
He wondered if his father’s cousins had a strong faith to draw on.
Yeah, I think it’s time I got in touch with my Amish roots.
Chris grinned, and Nellie Mae popped into his thoughts yet again.
The day had been plentiful with sunshine and clear skies since her brother James dropped Rhoda off at the Kraybills’. She had admired the big clapboard house, the detached garage, and the stretch of land behind the Kraybills’ property, but mostly, she was eager to see her Buick again.
My ticket to freedom.
She had driven it with Mrs. Kraybill instructing her at least a dozen times now, and with her brother James—before he’d laid down the law to her.
She’d come a long way since January’s snows, when she’d accidentally backed into the Kraybills’ front yard, running over the children’s snowman. Yet she wanted to be fully prepared for both the driving test and the written one.
Ken was urging her to take the test soon, so she could drive independently to meet him places and drop by his house for supper, too. Her heart pitter-pattered whenever she thought of Ken . . . and his beautiful house. Although they hadn’t been dating long enough to be quite that serious yet, she wondered when he might pop the question, as the English often referred to a proposal of marriage.
Hurrying now to finish dusting the downstairs rooms, Rhoda dismissed her romantic notions and set about doing a thorough cleaning. In a while, she hoped to take a few minutes to look over the apartment ads. Smiling to herself, she recalled it hadn’t been so long ago she was poring over the ads in search of a car.
That turned out just fine,
she thought, congratulating herself as she carefully moved the many knickknacks, one by one, on the old desk in the living room.
I’m getting my dearest wishes . . . and tomorrow I’ll have my driver’s license. If all goes well.
Numerous times since having first met Ken here, in this very house, she’d stopped and pinched herself to see if this was all a mere dream. Working for the Kraybills was indeed providential. She still embraced that mind-set, though she wondered if Ken might be right. He viewed things differently—that life was more about what you made of it in the long run. That’s what counted, he said.
It’s all up to me,
she reminded herself.
With that in mind, she eyed the newspaper, ready at last for a coffee break. Feeling good about striking out on her own, she opened to the ads and noticed several apartments available immediately. One not so far away caught her attention, though she wondered if she could afford it.
Mrs. Kraybill wandered into the kitchen. “What are you looking to buy now?”
“Well, I’m being shown the door, so to speak.” She explained that James was much too strict for her liking. “Ken’s not terribly pleased about his rules, either.”
Upon hearing her nephew’s name, Mrs. Kraybill tilted her head, eyebrows raised. “Oh, the two of you are becoming serious?”
Rhoda wasn’t used to discussing private matters. “I think it’s safe to say we like each other.”
“And your brother’s opposed to your seeing someone outside the Plain community?”
“That’s putting it mildly.” She’d heard Ken say this before and liked the ring of it. “So now I’m hunting for an apartment.” Mrs. Kraybill leaned down to look where Rhoda was pointing. “What do you think of this one?”
Mrs. Kraybill read the ad. “Well, if it’s as nice as the description, you could be very happy there.” She straightened, eyeing her curiously. “I’m sure Mr. Kraybill wouldn’t mind if you’d like to rent the spare room from us, Rhoda. Until you get on your feet.”
Does she mean till I’m married?
“Oh, nice of you to offer,” she replied. “I’ll let you know soon.”
She wasn’t too keen on the idea, but she didn’t want to be impolite, either. Truth be told, she wondered if it was such a good idea to live under her employers’ roof, no matter how kind.
Thankfully, Mrs. Kraybill didn’t press further. Perusing several more ads, Rhoda realized she was actually excited about looking for a place to call her own—never mind that James was forcing her out. Perhaps Ken would be willing to take her to see the apartments listed in the paper after their supper date tonight.
And if not, maybe I’ll discover how serious he is,
she thought, wondering if this turn of events might even spur him to ask her to marry him.
His favorite radio station blaring, Chris took in the sights as he continued on Beaver Dam Road past the narrow bridge, near the spot where he had first met Nellie Fisher. He noticed, for the first time, a small sign posted along the road—
Nellie’s Simple Sweets
. Could it be her shop?
Not giving in to the temptation to slow down, he headed toward the stone mill. He knew better than to let his mind wander back to the two times he’d talked with her. Suzy’s sister was off limits to him. Anyone knew that.
But what was he supposed to do? Wash her from his mind— those appealing brown eyes, her sweet innocence?
The afternoon was bright as he passed the old stone mill. His mother had often pointed out the historic building, with its millpond and the wide creek that ran parallel to the road. Though not far from his own neighborhood, this stretch of countryside felt strangely removed from the familiarity of town. Few trees obstructed the sun’s rays, which splashed gold onto the road. Everywhere he looked, nature seemed to be springing back to life.
Squinting, he reached up for his sunglasses, sliding them off the visor. The deeper into the country he drove—a place of grazing land and the silhouettes of silos and barns—the more clearly he pictured David Yoder’s farm. A long swing dangled out front, hanging high from the tallest maple.
He’d once snuck off to a water hole with Zach and Caleb, leaving their clothes strewn along the trail—all but their under-shorts. They’d climbed high into a sycamore tree to leap off the thick middle branch into the cold, clear water below.
What adventures we had!
So many memories of their country visits were racing back that Chris had to purposely slow down, his excitement fueling his speed.
Reuben was put off by the Yoders’ refusal of his most recent offer to help—
“We’ll stick to our family’s aid,”
the oldest son, Gideon, had told him—and he relinquished his frustration to prayer. He was not alone in his predicament; a good many other New Order farmers had been turned away, as well. Prior to the church split, the People had always united when a tragedy struck, regardless if the victim was family or not—in or out of the old church—with the exception of the Bann.
But now? The Yoders seemed to be making a point of the division, and just when they needed the most assistance.
Overwhelmed with concern, Reuben knelt beside the love seat in the upstairs bedroom. “O Lord, make my heart soft toward the Yoders . . . come what may.” He prayed for salvation to come to David’s household, for physical healing, and for divine help for the whole family. Claiming the promises of God, he stayed on his knees.
After a time, he rose and felt the familiar urge to extend himself yet again to David.
I’ll do your bidding, Lord.
He hurried outdoors, going to the horse barn to trot his two best driving horses around the training track. Two farmers from Chester County would be arriving soon, interested in dickering. Reuben needed to sell more than two horses this spring if he was to keep his head above water, but as he now endeavored to do in all aspects of his life, he would trust God for the outcome.
Before starting the afternoon milking, Caleb headed to the house for some ice tea. He’d seen his sister Leah making some earlier as he’d brushed past her, adding oodles of sugar, just the way he liked it.
He entered the kitchen; with both Mamm and Daed away, the house felt too quiet. He wondered how Daed was holding up, lying in a hospital bed, unable to shift or even feel his legs.
