The Missing (18 page)

Grace had never dreamed then she would be experiencing Yonnie’s unashamed attention today . . . with Becky observing it firsthand, no less. She could only hope her friend would believe her side of the story.

But when Martin stopped to drop them off at the entrance to Eli’s, Becky scrambled out of the van ahead of Grace. “I won’t be needin’ a ride home,” Becky told Martin. She opened her purse and quickly pulled out her dollar bills, not waiting for Martin to say the amount.

Ach, is she ever miffed!

“Becky . . . wait!” Grace called after her, but Becky was making a beeline for the store’s entrance. “You don’t understand,” she added softly, more to herself than to her friend.
This wasn’t
my doing!

When she turned, she saw Martin, still waiting near the van. His expression was concerned. “When would you like me to return for you, Grace?”

“An hour or so?” She motioned to the spot where she would wait for him to pick her up. “All right?”

“I’ll meet you there.” He moved back to the driver’s side of the van.

“Denki,” Grace said, feeling mighty glum as she headed into Eli’s.

Martin Puckett had found it tricky keeping his chuckles in check when Yonnie had hopped in next to Grace as if they were a couple. But the drama had heightened when Riehls’ girl came on the scene, and by the end of the drive, he’d felt downright sorry for Becky in particular.

Now that he’d deposited them at their respective destinations, he could hardly wait to get home to tell Janet. Why, this was nearly like the romance novels his wife enjoyed reading! She often sat up late in bed reading one such book after another.

Which of those girls will end up with that young man?
Although he’d seen Yonnie only once or twice before, he’d recognized him immediately, thanks to his striking blond hair—nearly an extension of his yellow straw hat.

Martin relaxed as he drove to the next passengers’ home, dismissing the Amish young people for now. On the way, he turned on the radio, curious about the weather forecast. “Pleasant temperatures in the low seventies,” the DJ reported. “No rain in sight.”

A trial for the farmers if this keeps up.
He wondered if his Mennonite neighbors up the road had observed the seventh-year rest on their vegetable garden, as instructed in the Old Testament book of Leviticus. Martin hadn’t wanted to gawk over the thick hedge surrounding their property to see. But his wife, Janet, had mentioned some months ago that the neighbor’s oldest son had talked of “trusting Jehovah God” during the resting of their small parcel of land. Martin didn’t know anyone else—Amish or English—who observed this Sabbath rest of their land.

Martin had been contemplating the idea of observing a sabbatical rest himself, though in other areas of life. If it was good for the land, why not for people? Why was it many did not heed even the concept of resting from work on the Lord’s Day . . . or at least one day a week?

He made a point of noting the time, wanting to be punctual for his return to pick up Grace Byler, who seemed to be coping fairly well with her mother gone.

Shifting gears, he couldn’t imagine what might transpire in the natural foods store between Grace and her friend Becky—if they managed to speak to each other.

Grace bumped into Becky in the first aisle at Eli’s, near the bulk foods of oatmeal and nuts. Her face looked like she’d eaten a jar of sour pickles.

Grace grimaced at Becky’s apparent disdain.
I’ve got to explain
to her!
But Becky ignored her and pushed her cart right past her at every juncture, keeping her eyes fixed straight ahead.

What can I say if she does stop to talk?
Grace could only offer the truth, but she doubted it would be enough to convince Becky of her innocence. And since Becky was clearly in no mood to be agreeable, Grace had no recourse but to slump into silence.

Later, in the far check-out lane, Grace noticed Becky talking with several women from their church district. Becky glanced at her only once, catching her eye before looking quickly away.

Cheerless, Grace sighed. This was ever so petty. After all, if Becky sensibly considered the whole situation, she would realize Grace had not made plans to go anywhere with Yonnie—not when he was dropped off at his house and Grace had gone on to Eli’s.

“Isn’t it obvious?” she muttered while removing the baking items from her cart to the moving belt for the cashier. There was ample flour and salt for the next two weeks, as well as wheat germ, bran, cornmeal, molasses, and two large jars of mayonnaise, steak sauce, and a few other prepared items Dat liked to have on hand. She’d also purchased fifty pounds of unrefined sugar—in twenty-five-pound bags—in preparation for canning, coming up. Their healthy strawberry patch produced well, and she was looking forward to all the delicious jam she and Mandy were sure to make.
Mammi Adah, too.

One final glance at Becky confirmed there would be no talking to her here. It would have to wait till later.

Outside, as she waited for Martin to return, Grace saw Priscilla Stahl coming into the store. A glance at her buggy revealed Henry sitting there, whittling while he waited for his sister.

Grace was conscious of his eyes on her from his parking spot right next to Becky’s sister-in-law’s buggy. Grace recognized the team by the older Morgan chestnut mare with her distinguishable white sock.

Grace hoped Martin might return quickly. She was uncomfortable, not wanting to speak to Henry and still feeling bad about Becky.

The sight of Yonnie’s parents driving up in their family buggy, the seat crowded with their three school-age children, distracted her.
Yonnie’s youngest siblings . . .

It was hard not to stare as Ephram helped his wife out of the buggy, offering his hand to Irene, even though she was quite capable of stepping down onto the sidewalk herself. He leaned near to speak to her, and a long, sweet look passed between them. Grace tried to remember when—if ever—she’d witnessed such tenderness between a man and a woman. She certainly did not recall seeing this kind of unspoken affection between her own parents, even as far back as her childhood.
Truly surprising!

Irene waited while Ephram helped the children down, patting each of their heads.
Ephram surely is fond of his family.

Grace wondered if Yonnie might not be similar in disposition to his father. Then she caught herself—
why should I care
about that?
Even so, her eyes were fixed on Ephram as he happily waved to Irene and the children, then got back into the buggy and picked up the reins to direct the horse to the parking area reserved for Amish.

Just then Martin pulled up and stopped. Grace was greatly relieved. She looked all around for Becky, in case she’d changed her mind and wanted to ride back with them, but she was nowhere to be seen.

After Martin helped her unload her groceries from the cart to the back of the van, she climbed inside and replayed in her mind the public affection between Yonnie’s parents and their children.
No wonder Becky’s disappointed,
Grace thought, wondering if Yonnie treated every girl as thoughtfully as he had Becky.
And me.

chapter
seventeen

T
he van neared the Riehls’, and Grace noticed Heather Nelson and her father sitting on the front porch with Marian and several of Becky’s younger sisters. Had Heather told Becky that she and her father had encountered Grace on the road yesterday?
Oh . . . I wish I could’ve talked to Becky today!

Another moment, and Dat’s big farmhouse came into view. As Martin pulled up close to the side door, Joe and Mandy came running from the barn to help carry in the groceries. Once everything was inside, Grace dug into her purse for the payment.

“Have you heard anything more from your mother?” Martin asked as she counted out the bills.

“Just the one phone call Mamma made to you last month . . . and a recent letter.”

His worried expression eased. “Ah . . . then you must know where she is.”

“Well, we know where she
was
.” She assumed he was making small talk—not quite as troubled as he’d seemed when Mamma first departed.

“Glad to hear she’s keeping in touch.” He waved as he headed back to the driveway. “Have a good Lord’s Day tomorrow.”

“You too.” She hurried inside to find Mandy already putting things into the pantry. “I’ll finish up if you need to get back to the barn,” she offered.

“Denki. Another set of twin lambs was just birthed,” Mandy told her, “so I should return to Dat right quick.”

Grace sighed. If she stopped long enough to be honest with herself, there was no way her father would agree to let Adam or any other sibling go with her to look for Mamma now. Between the lambing and all the farm work the season brought, she doubted she’d ever find the time to seek her missing mother.

Heather had spent most of Saturday with her dad, driving around the back roads to see several of Josiah Smucker’s recent houses. Most were Amish, built without the modern conveniences Josiah and others would definitely incorporate into her father’s home. But several had been constructed for modern families using the ancient timber-frame technique—no nails required. It seemed clear that Amish contractors were second to none when it came to careful craftsmanship. And their strong work ethic and discounted bids were also appealing.

She and her dad had gone to look at custom cabinetry, as well, deciding on the type of wood and style for the kitchen and bathrooms. They were wowed by the skill of an Amish carpenter in Ronks and easily came to an agreement on the warm hues of maple. The minute the blueprints were finished, which would be soon, Dad planned to hand-carry them to the cabinetmaker. Josiah had urged them to have the cabinets made as soon as possible to expedite things, especially if Dad wanted to move in by midsummer.

So much had been accomplished in a few hours—they’d even taken time for a sitdown lunch at Dienner’s, an AmishMennonite restaurant on Route 30.

Marian Riehl and her guests had referred to the delicious buffet several times. As it turned out, the place was jammed with Plain folk and tourists alike, and her dad had raved about the “seven sweets and seven sours” salad bar. Both of them had overeaten, nearly helpless to stop going back for more of the delicious food.

Now, as she and her dad sat with Marian on her peaceful porch, sipping root beer, Heather realized that, since her dad’s arrival, she’d forgotten about her new online pal, Wannalive.
Dad sure knows how to fill a girl’s days. . . .

Relaxing in her porch chair, she enjoyed the sweep of fields to the east and north. In the front lawn, Becky’s younger sisters giggled and ran barefoot back and forth, playing hide-and-seek. Three kittens—one pure white, one a gray tabby, and the smallest a black kitten with a white throat—frolicked about and occasionally stopped to stretch their little heads high when Becky’s youngest sister, Sarah, tickled their necks. Heather could just imagine the contented purring rumbling up from each fuzzy tummy. How she missed the twin black Persians waiting for her back home!

Becky was gone from the house—according to Marian, she was out running errands. The girls came scampering toward the house again, Sarah running with the girls’ obvious favorite of the kittens in her arms. Breathlessly, they sat on the porch steps to have homemade root beer and several oatmeal cookies, too.

“Mamma?” said Sarah as she stroked the kitten’s shiny black coat. “Did Lettie Byler die? I never see her anymore.”

Marian made a little gasp and rose from the lawn chair, and Rachel tugged on Sarah’s apron, eyes wide. “Don’t be sayin’ that, sister.”

Reaching for the empty serving plate, Marian muttered something about getting more cookies. “Come along, now, girls,” she directed as she reached for the screen door.

Lettie? Who does she mean?
Heather wondered. Grace’s last name was Byler, too. Was Sarah speaking of someone in
that
Byler household?

“I never see her anymore,”
Sarah had said. Heather shivered, suddenly wishing she’d worn her jersey.

She was about to go inside to get it when Dad broke the silence. “Have you thought more about going home for your treatment, Heather?” Apparently he hadn’t paid any attention to the odd reaction little Sarah’s question had provoked.

Heather shifted in her chair. “Dad, no. I don’t want to poison my innards.”

“Honey, I’d be happy to talk to your oncologist . . . with you.”

“I’ve already talked to him.”

He scratched his head. “To put it bluntly, I don’t feel good about your running out on your doctor. This isn’t like you at all. You’ve always been so responsible.”

Running out?

“It’s not like he’s God, you know.” She shook her head. “Dad, I know what I’m doing seems irrational to you, even crazy, but I really want to explore this natural option first. But don’t worry—I’ll get a second opinion after giving the lodge program a shot.”

He gave her a measured look. “So you haven’t ruled out standard medical treatment if it should become necessary?”

Heather shook her head and waited for another challenge. But he surprised her, turning to look out at the green of cornfields and grazing land and saying no more.

Her yummasetti casserole of noodles, ground beef, and peas was nestled in the oven, so Grace ran out to check on Willow. She noticed someone had recently applied yet another coating of the liniment Yonnie had mixed and left nearby.
Adam or Joe
must be rubbing it on every few hours.

Even more encouraging was the sight of Willow on her feet, eating—though still favoring the hurt leg. “Ach, just look at you. You’re improving. This is so wonderful-
gut
!” Grace slipped a sugar cube into the horse’s mouth when Willow nuzzled her arm. “What would the vet say if he saw ya now?” She patted the mare’s neck, then left for the sheep barn to look for her father.

“Dat just headed for the house,” Adam said, leaning on his hay fork. “Why do you need him?”

“Just want to ask him something.”

Adam wiped his forehead and set the fork aside. “By the way, I talked to Priscilla ’bout what you asked me. I ran into her this morning when I went to Stahls’ to return an old saw after breakfast.”