The Parting (22 page)
Caleb was more talkative than usual this evening, and Nellie was intrigued by his stories of horses, especially his mention of Amish selling some breeds to racetracks down in Florida. “Can ya imagine such a thing?” he asked, appearing to stifle a laugh. “You wouldn’t think of paying money to see one of those races, would ya?”
“More sensible ways to spend money, seems to me.”
He nodded. “Jah. Yet there
are
Plain folk who deal in that. Daed says it’s wrong.”
“I s’pose mine would say the same.” As closely connected to the world of horses as Dat was, Nellie’d never heard her father speak of this. To many of the men his age, horse races meant one thing: a big waste of money. Betting and gambling were of the devil.
They headed straight for the millstream behind the old stone millhouse, going to sit on a wrought-iron bench not too far from the creek bank. “It’s so perty here,” she said, still feeling a bit awkward at first when alone with Caleb. Even though she longed to talk and laugh with him, the initial moments together took some getting used to, particularly after the hubbub of a youth gathering. They wanted to be near each other so badly but were both trying to balance that desire with propriety.
“Our place, jah?” He slipped his arm around her.
She nodded, glad to lean her head on his shoulder.
Caleb talked of the weather, wondering if there would be any much-needed rain before winter’s snows. Then he brought up the hog-butchering frolic the Saturday afternoon after next at his uncle’s house. “’Tis over near Cains, a little south of here. Several families are donating meat to the ministerial brethren. I’m goin’ to help hang the large hams and shoulders. Are you goin’?”
She sat up straighter. “Um . . . s’pose I could.”
“What, Nellie? You don’t like watchin’ the slaughtering?”
She cringed. “It’s the smell I can’t abide.”
He chuckled, “Well, some of my brothers will cut out the intestines and wash them so that
you
can stuff ’em and make sausage.” He was clearly amused.
“I wouldn’t mind helpin’ grind meat, maybe. But better get someone else to stuff the sausage.”
He laughed softly. “I don’t know too many Plain folk who are squeamish ’bout that.”
She had to laugh, too. “Guess I’m better suited to workin’ with flours and spices and such.” She looked at him; even by the dim light of the moon, his eyes seemed to twinkle.
“Mind if we walk a bit?”
She agreed and he reached for her hand as they strolled through the black trees along the creek bank, their feet making soft padding sounds on the soil.
Hours later, after Caleb’s fond
“Gut Nacht!”
at the end of her lane, Nellie felt almost too tired to put one foot in front of the other—they’d walked and talked that much. But deep within, where Mamma said the soul of a person resided, she was skipping with delight. Caleb had been ever so thoughtful again, making it known he wanted her by his side for all the upcoming youth get-togethers. She had herself a true beau.
One who will never break my heart. Not like Nan’s
.
She thought again of Nan and how happy she had been tonight. Was it because of Rebekah’s friendship? Between Rebekah and Rhoda, Nan had her share of confidantes. Nellie wished her older sisters might sometimes include her, in spite of the age difference. Now that Rosanna was preparing for a baby—
twins!
—Nellie felt even more alone. Of course, she had Caleb, but it was a completely different sort of sharing than one did with a sister or a girlfriend.
Noticing a light in her parents’ bedroom, she was stunned to think her father was still up reading. With that in mind, she crept all the way back around the barn, lest she cause a racket and send her father outside.
There, just inside and hanging on the high hook, Nellie Mae spotted Dat’s lantern, essential for her late-night task. Tomorrow’s duties would start in a few hours, with all the extra baking required after their Lord’s Day and the washing to be hung out on the line.
No time to waste . . .
Reuben had started writing the letter to the bishop more times than he cared to count, the crumpled-up pages of lined paper lying like popcorn balls on the bedroom floor. Remarkably, Betsy had slept through it, dear wife that she was.
I’m putting my family in jeopardy,
he thought.
We’ll be lumped in with those wanting tractors!
Going to the window, Reuben stretched his arms. Was he doing the right thing by writing to the weary man of God? Word had it his brother had fallen ill out in Iowa.
What kind of man am I, putting this on him, too?
Certainly in the eyes of the Lord he was doing right by requesting the Bible studies. Pleasing God was Reuben’s focus now. He would gladly give all he had to follow Him.
My aging parents are coming to live in a house with their soon-to-be shunned son
. He swallowed hard, blinking back the tears that threatened his sight. How had Cousin Jonathan and his family survived thus far? His sons, all farmers, held as firmly as their father to their newfound belief. Yet Jonathan’s parents and grandparents were strongly opposed, as staunch in tradition as most older relatives were expected to be. Still, when a man chose to wholly follow the Lord, as Jonathan had, the family often followed close behind. Reuben had seen this before among the People.
He had much to ponder. Going out in the hallway to pace the floor from one end of the long corridor and back, he could hear daughter Rhoda snoring softly as he moved past her room. Nellie Mae, on the other hand, didn’t seem to have returned from the evening’s event. Evidently she was still with a beau.
He smiled, recalling his own courtship of dear Betsy. Like a sunrise, she’d appeared in his life. He still remembered the pleasure of seeing her eyes light up for him that first time.
I’m a blessed man, Lord. And I ask you this night for yet another blessing. . . .
Without intending to cause a ruckus, Reuben planned to sit down with his father and lay out what he’d learned about salvation by grace. After nearly a lifetime of believing you worked your way to heaven, Reuben now knew the Bible’s position on the matter. Naturally there would be plenty of room for the Plain way of doing things, so well ingrained now, but Betsy and the girls, at least, must accept the whole of the gospel, too. He prayed it would be soon.
What his Daed might say would make no difference to Reuben’s path, but his father would have a choice to make: His parents could reside here in the Dawdi Haus as expected, or they might prefer to live with one of Reuben’s other siblings who would remain in this church district, after the dust settled.
What will my sons choose to follow? What of their wives and children?
He thought again of young Emma, so much like their Suzy at that age. Would she grow up to know the Savior? Would any of his precious grandchildren?
These questions occupied his mind, taunting Reuben as he wore out the rug.
It was pointless to try to sleep after nearly an hour of staring at the window in his room, watching for the first hint of dawn. Any rest eluded Caleb. So he rose, dressed, and went on foot a ways, traveling a mile or so east. He had to walk off his pent-up energy, though he would be dog-tired at first light. Time to put his interest in Nellie Mae into some logical perspective. Yet how could he hope to accomplish that by walking to her house and standing out in the trees along the road? Caleb looked up at the many windows under the eaves, wondering which one belonged to her. In order to shine his flashlight on the right window, he must know . . . should the day come to ask Nellie Mae to marry him.
He knew there were young people in other church districts farther north who practiced bed courtship—
Bundel
. Here it was frowned upon, although he’d heard enough stories to know some of the older folk had practiced bundling—grandparents and the like. Some of them were now the same outspoken elders who were trying to hold the line against tractors and other worldly pressures.
What
was
acceptable for an engaged couple was a visit to the girl’s bedroom, where, in most cases, she had a small couch in the far corner. He’d never seen a girl’s room, except his sisters’ at home. Most likely, Nellie’s was especially neat, just as she was. It would smell mighty nice, too, no doubt.
Nellie had confided in him earlier tonight that she and Suzy had shared nearly everything as sisters, including their room. This revelation had him even more curious than before. That and another offhand comment from one of Susannah Lapp’s friends.
He hoped Nellie Mae was quite certain about her sister’s behavior. Suzy was even mentioned in passing among the local boys.
Truth be told, Caleb was attracted to Reuben Fisher’s third daughter like a parched man to cold spring water. Not only was he fond of Nellie, he wanted to shorten the time between their dates. He wished the seasons would fly, too, bringing next year’s baptismal Sunday around right quick—and, not long after that, his and Nellie’s wedding day, Lord willing. He could envision Nellie baking her delicious pastries in his own mother’s kitchen, greeting him with her endearing smile, and holding their little ones someday, too.
I’ll write her a letter,
Caleb decided, knowing his father would advise him to slow down—and right quick.
The tree stump made an ideal lampstand. Lowering the heavy lantern onto it, Nellie was glad for the wide swath of light the oil lamp provided. The right honeysuckle bush had been relatively easy to locate, thanks to the ancient stump next to it. The pyramid-shaped sweetgum tree, its leaves showing traces of the purple-red it soon would be, was the other familiar landmark.
As she dug, Nellie thought of Caleb, wondering what he would think of her up here doing man’s work. He might be impressed at her strength, though she was not even half as strong as any of her five brothers.
Course, he’d be mighty curious ’bout what I’m up to
.
She kept reliving their date. How would she possibly wait another whole week before laying eyes on him? She wondered if it would be too forward to write a note—make a little card for him, maybe. Yet if she let herself express the things she was eager to say, she might embarrass herself.
No, best not to pick up a pen at all
.
Nellie’s shovel bumped into the dirt-caked plastic she’d wrapped around the diary. Quickly she leaned down to retrieve it from its earthy hiding place. Gently brushing away the soil, she unwrapped the book and wiped it with the hem of her apron.
She clung to the journal, relieved to see it remained in good condition. “Suzy . . . oh, dear sister. What people are saying ’bout you.”
A sudden fear welled up as she contemplated what might be revealed within these pages. Suzy had recorded her honest thoughts, surely never thinking someone other than herself would be reading them, even someone who loved her dearly. Nellie was the sole protector of Suzy’s intimate reflections . . . of her dreams. Perhaps of her sins, too. Here between the hard covers of her sister’s journal was the disclosure of what had pulled a good Amish girl toward the world.
Dare I read it?
Still gripping the diary, Nellie reached for the lantern, suddenly aware of the dancing shadows, the way the light, adequate for digging, now played insufficiently against the darkness . . . the predawn gloom. She lowered her hand and shivered as uncontrollably as she had at hearing that Suzy’s life had been snuffed out. Hugging the diary, she felt grateful for its recovery and somehow closer to her dead sister. Then, making a pouch from her apron, she carefully tied the book into the fabric. Reaching again for the lantern, Nellie Mae slung the shovel over her shoulder before picking her way through the woods, the fatigue of having been up all night—and the weight of what she might soon discover—creeping into her bones.
The attic extended the entire length of the house. Given that Betsy hadn’t mounted the creaky steps in months, she decided to organize a bit, her other morning work caught up for a while.
Time to chase away some dust bunnies
.
