The Parting (19 page)
He hoped the rumors about Suzy would blow over before his father could speak such harsh words to him. Anxious to get his mind on more pleasant things, he asked Nellie, “What’s your favorite cookie?”
“To eat or to bake?”
“There’s a difference?”
“Why, sure. I enjoy baking lots of cookies, especially my thin sand tarts, but I much prefer biting into a thicker cookie.”
“Jah, substance in a cookie’s a fine trait.” He offered another peanut butter cookie from his stash.
Come to think of it, substance aptly describes Nellie, too
.
“What’s
your
favorite, Caleb?”
“Chocolate chip first and peanut butter second.”
She let out a giggle.
“What’s so funny?”
“You.” She was still laughing.
“Let’s see . . . I’m funny because I answered your question?”
“No, because you’re so thorough.” She smiled at him. “You’re quite funny.”
“No one’s ever said that before.”
“It’s a very nice thing, believe me.”
“If you say so, it must be.” He would not restrain himself any longer. He slipped his arm around her. “
You’re
ever so good, Nellie Mae.”
She briefly leaned her head on his shoulder.
“We’re no longer lost, I see,” he said, recognizing a signpost now. “Would you like to walk awhile?”
“I wore extra socks, just in case.”
“So did I,” he admitted, finding it encouraging that she’d planned to be out with him a long time on this, their second date of what he hoped would be many.
When Reuben confronted her, Betsy was reluctant to acknowledge that a sales representative had dropped by ten days ago. “The man was here but a few minutes,” she reassured him.
“When were you goin’ to tell me?”
“Wasn’t . . . I s’pose.”
He shook his head and smiled at her. “Well, ain’t you the case?”
“What did Ephram tell you, anyways?” She was curious, having heard a bit of gossip from her daughters-in-law at a recent quilting. According to Martha, there was a growing group among them who favored using tractors.
Reuben scratched his long beard. “Ephram’s not at all interested in fancy farm equipment, if that’s what you’re worried about.”
“Not worried, no. Just wonderin’.” She finished brushing her hip-length hair, noticing in her small dresser mirror the streaks of gray intermingled with the flaxen . . . and the ever-widening middle part. Goodness, she had been pulling a comb down that part for nigh unto forty-eight years now, next birthday come July. “I am awful tired,” she said.
“Before you sleep, let me pray for you,” Reuben said.
“Whatever for?”
He inhaled slowly, his eyes solemn. “Aw, now.”
She felt immediately sorry and stretched out her hand. “Reuben . . .”
“That’s all right, love. I’ll be prayin’ for ya on my own.”
She knew he would, because she’d awakened in the night to him kneeling at the bed, hands folded, lips moving in the lantern light. Not wanting to disturb him, she’d tiptoed around him, heading down to their one and only indoor bathroom. It was as if Reuben took the verse to “pray without ceasing” literally.
Truly, Betsy didn’t know how to view what was happening. It seemed all encompassing—either he had his nose in the Good Book or his nose pressed into his hands as he prayed. Highly unusual, she was ever so sure. She guessed if she contemplated God’s Word long enough, she might give herself over to it, too, and get herself into the hot water her husband surely was headed for. For now she felt too drained of energy to walk such a road herself.
With talk of Reuben’s parents moving as soon as next month into the Dawdi Haus next door, Reuben would have more than his share of work to tend to.
And less time for reading and praying. . . .
Doubtless his father would intervene, as well, if Noah Fisher realized what Reuben was daily studying.
Her husband
had
become ever so considerate since memorizing Scripture, doting on her now more than ever. There was no question Reuben’s devotion for his God had filled him to the point it was spilling over to her.
Just so the brethren don’t come round asking questions once he starts sharing Scriptures with our sons. . . .
She thought of Rhoda, Nan, and Nellie, having observed their reactions to the twice-daily readings and their father’s expressive table blessing before the meal. None of them had said anything, but if it continued, Nellie would likely be saying something—and not any too kindly, knowing that one.
Betsy pushed her pillow beneath her head, seeking a comfortable position. Nellie was out with a beau again tonight, she was quite sure. Looking over at Reuben, still leaning against the side of the bed in prayer, she wondered if she ought to ask him to remember both Nan and Nellie in beseeching the Lord God and heavenly Father this night. One for a shattered heart . . . the other for strength for whatever was to come.
The long ravine toward the old gristmill—now a knittery—was nearly too dark to walk through. Nellie picked her way over the uneven ground near the bank of the millrace, glad for Caleb’s foresight in bringing a flashlight. So far she was enjoying herself, yet in her happiness she felt a touch of sadness, too.
Regardless of time’s passage, she struggled some with the notion of enjoying herself at all. Nellie contemplated the peculiar feeling, wondering why she felt guilty to be getting on with her life. Was this a common thing for people who’d lost loved ones?
Neither Rhoda nor Nan had voiced any such thing. But now Mamma . . . she might understand.
Nellie wanted to fully delight in Caleb’s attention; he had long been the boy she’d dreamed of. There were times when she felt completely at home with him. At other times, she felt less relaxed with him than with other boys. Was she bracing herself for future questions about Suzy? More likely she was nervous about the lie she’d told him. If, indeed, it was a lie, which she must find out somehow.
She breathed in the cold air and held it.
Enough of that thinking
. Then, letting the air
whoosh
back out, she wanted to pinch herself. Was it too good to be true the way Caleb looked at her? Would she ever awaken from this wonderfulgood dream?
When he pointed his flashlight to shine directly on her path, Nellie Mae was brought out of her reverie. Oh, how she wanted this night to last and last. Such a romantic setting, one Caleb must have picked just for her.
He laughed softly. “It’s so beautiful—private, too. My sisters and brothers and I sometimes ice skate on the pond, over yonder.” He asked where she and her sisters liked to skate, and she mentioned the pond not far from their house. He nodded and said, “I’d like to bring you back here when it’s sunny. I think you’ll come to like this place as much as I do.”
She wouldn’t ponder whether he’d brought other girls walking here in this secluded area. Not when he was seemingly quite content to be with her now.
He reached for her hand and once again she thrilled to his touch.
Will this always excite me so?
Careful to guide her and keep her from slipping, Caleb shone his flashlight as a guiding beacon.
Soon they came upon a lively stream and stopped to listen to its murmuring as it spilled over rocks, making its way south below them. Nellie wished for a moon—the surrounding trees and shrubs suddenly seemed ominous and too black. She shivered, fearful.
“What is it, Nellie?”
“I . . . uh, it’s awful dark out . . . is all.”
They were deep in a dense covering of trees, the stream nearly at their feet. “I’m here with you. Don’t be afraid.”
She held tightly to his hand. “Honestly, I was never scared of the dark . . . well, before . . .”
“Before Suzy drowned?” His question came without warning.
She looked up at him, overwhelmed, and shrugged, afraid another discussion about Suzy might begin.
“I can see why you’d feel thataway.” He led her toward the millstream, making no further comments about Suzy to her surprise and relief.
Then he leaned down to place the flashlight on the ground, pointing it toward the water. Straightening, he turned to her, a smile on his face. “I want to ask you something, Nellie.”
She held her breath.
“Will you be my girl? Will you go for steady with me?”
All during their lengthy ride tonight, she’d considered what it would be like to be without Caleb, as before . . . her heartfelt longing to know him. She did not want to return to those days.
“Will you, Nellie Mae?”
Only one answer formed on her lips. “Jah, Caleb . . . I will.”
He leaned forward and planted a kiss on her cheek, then let out a whoop and a holler.
She laughed out loud, his delight mingling with her own.
All the way back to the horse and buggy and on the long ride home, too, she considered that she knew for the first time what Mamma had meant.
You’ll know when the right boy comes along. . . .
Nellie Mae’s heart sang and her toes wiggled as the buggy flew through the wee hours. Caleb Yoder was going to court her, and in due time, she would become his bride. Nothing could possibly stand in their way.
Nellie sensed an air of anticipation in Mary Glick’s house on Thursday morning. The place was abuzz with chatter and delicious treats as she, Mamma, and Nan arrived for the quilting bee, eager to stitch together a wedding-ring quilt for a new bride-to-be. Though the girl wasn’t related to Nellie, she was one of Rosanna’s many first cousins, and Nellie looked forward to seeing her dearest friend here today, too.
Standing in the tidy kitchen to warm her hands near the stove, Nellie overheard Susannah Lapp’s mother talking about their bishop. “He’s under the weather out there in Kalona. I daresay he and Anna’ve been gone a mite too long, jah?”
“Sure seems so” came the reply. “Next thing he’ll be stuck out there, being ill ’n’ all.”
Susannah’s mother sighed loudly. “Time he gets home again.”
Uncle Bishop must surely be perturbed to have to remain so far away,
Nellie thought.
Or is he lingering on purpose?
She moved away, lest she give in to the temptation to eavesdrop—a fault she disliked in others.
Mary Glick’s front room was filled with a large quilting frame and twelve chairs set up around it. There were six piles of fabric stacked on the wooden settee, neatly folded and sorted by color. “Looks like there’s another quilt in the plannin’, too,” Nellie remarked to Nan, who was more pleasant and cheery today than she had been in a good while.
“Wonder when they’ll start doing the piecework.” Nan inspected the brightest colors, choosing a bold plum color and holding it up. “What would I look like in a dress made out of this shade of purple?” She held it under her chin. “What do you think?”
The image of Iva Beiler at the last Singing flickered through Nellie’s mind. “Why, it’d look plain worldly, wouldn’t it?”
“Amishwomen in Holmes County wear cape dresses of this color,” Nan said. “And even brighter colors, too.”
“How do ya know?”
“From my circle letter.”
Nellie found it odd that Nan should write to someone so far away. “Who in your letters is from there?”
“No one.” Nan was still fingering the radiant fabric as if she was coveting it. “One of my friends in Paradise seems to know all about the doings out in Berlin and Sugar Creek. That’s all.”
Nellie nodded. Funny how the grapevine worked—it had a way of piping in the tartest hearsay . . . and the sweetest. But the words coming from right behind her now were more surprising than sour or syrupy.
“I’ve just found out the most exciting news,” Kate Beiler’s mother, Rachel Stoltzfus, was saying. “My daughter Kate is carrying twins.”
“Ach, really?” said her friend.
Rachel was beaming. “Who would’ve thought?”
“Twins?” Nellie murmured, eyeing Rachel. Was Kate’s mother aware of the arrangement her daughter had made with Rosanna?
Nellie Mae couldn’t help but think now of Kate’s having shown early. And here lately she’d looked as if the baby was coming any day instead of close to Christmas. Nellie craned her neck, looking for Rosanna, who still had not arrived. When Nellie asked, neither Nan nor Mamma had seen her.
The fact Rachel had ceased talking about the babies and did not say a peep about Kate and Rosanna’s agreement made Nellie wonder if Rachel knew anything more.
Has Kate informed her mamma?
Soon they all sat down, and Nellie saved a spot for Rosanna, who, according to her mother, was most definitely on her way. A small scrap of somewhat mismatched fabric was peeking out between two others right in front of Nellie. Only a few of the older women kept this tradition alive; Mary, for one, liked to have a slight imperfection in every quilt.
When a full hour passed with no sign of Rosanna, Nellie presumed she wouldn’t be coming after all.
Is she home sewing up double of everything? Or is she so stunned about twins, she’d rather stay put?
Nellie truly hoped Rosanna was all right.
As much as she was fond of babies, she couldn’t begin to imagine what it would mean to care for two newborns at once. Of course Mamma knew all about that, having had Thomas and Jeremiah first off.
She wondered what Rosanna would do with twins instead of a single baby. Kate, too—would she change her mind? Surely she wouldn’t split up the babies between the two families. Even so, Nellie had heard of such a thing—parents who couldn’t provide for their triplet babies dividing them among the mother’s other siblings.
Raising them like cousins
.
Nellie tried her best to focus on making the tiny quilting stitches expected of her, but her hand shook as she contemplated dear Rosanna’s possible response to such news.
If she even knows yet. . . .
Rosanna listened with both ears, unable to edge in a word as Kate sat across the kitchen table, eyes glistening. “Listen,” she finally managed to slip in, “I’ll take all the wee babes you want to give.”
Kate’s eyes grew wide and solemn. “Honestly?” She brushed away her tears. “You have no idea what you’re sayin’, Rosanna.”
