The Thorn (14 page)

It had been in early October that she'd attended her first Singing. Eli Mast had driven her home that night. The hardworking boy had raised a variety of animals - goats, sheep, peacocks, and all kinds of chickens - with his father and older brothers. Eli was pleasant enough, even a good conversationalist. But she hadn't felt a speck of emotion for him, daydreaming instead about the outside world and what it might have to offer. It wasn't any wonder that Eli had eventually lost interest in her.

Other Amish boys had followed, but no one had captivated Hen's imagination - or her heart - until Brandon Orringer had rescued her from the blizzard.

"And the rest, as they say, is history," she muttered into her pillow, assuming Brandon would be fuming about now. She'd told him she needed some time alone and would be heading to her father's before ushering confused little Mattie out of the house and into the car.

Reliving the scene now, Hen was surprised her husband hadn't tried to talk her out of leaving. Perhaps when she returned, he would not confront her about staying the night with her family. Not a single time since they'd married had he come with her to visit here, nor had he accompanied her and Mattie Sue to see her brothers and their families. Only once, when they were first engaged, had Brandon ever stepped foot into her father's house.

My dear childhood home ... Her own radical change in perception was startling.

Mattie stirred in her sleep, and Hen stroked her long hair. Eventually they would return home, and Mattie Sue would once again be exposed to all the unwholesome forces Brandon thought of as simply entertainment. How was Hen going to protect her child's heart - her very soul - with Brandon working against her?

As for herself, tomorrow marked the start of Hen's job. Allowing her to work at Rachel's Fabrics was the least Brandon could do. And if he truly understood her motivation, he certainly would.

Looking again at her daughter's sweet face, Hen was torn. The job would fulfill her need, but it would do little for Mattie Sue. She couldn't take her away from Brandon like she had during last night's meltdown.

Getting up, she found her robe and slippers and crept down the hall to the large bedrooms that had been occupied by her brothers before they married. One of the rooms had been set up as a sewing and craft area, but the other room was entirely vacant, a shell waiting to be filled. She wondered why her parents hadn't furnished it for guests.

Moving toward the stairs, Hen assumed her sister had slept in Mom's daybed downstairs. Feeling a little guilty for taking over Rose's bed, Hen looked in on Rose, who was just waking up, burrowed beneath the quilts. "Good morning, sunshine," she said, going to sit on the edge of the bed. "I hope you don't mind giving up your room last night."

Rose yawned and stretched her arms. "Well, I won't if I get it back," she said. "But, seriously, you have me worried, sister."

Hen looked away, suddenly unsure of herself.

"You didn't run away from home, did ya?" Rose reached for her hand.

Hen grimaced. "I was much too hasty," she whispered, sorry for what she'd done.

"You're married now, Hen. You have to make lemonade ... or however the saying goes, jah?"

Hen considered that. "I miss spending time with my family." She paused. "Something's changed in me. I really don't know when it happened."

Rose stared, her big blue eyes boring a hole in Hen's heart. "You are returning home today - going back to your husband?"

Hen nodded. "Sooner or later."

"Won't he be worried?"

"Well ... Brandon knows where Mattie Sue and I are staying."

"He let you?"

She sighed. "We were very guarded about what was said in front of Mattie Sue."

"Poor little girl." Rose sat up in bed. "So, are you helpin' Mammi Sylvia make breakfast this fine mornin'?"

"This must be a no-Preaching Sunday, then?"

"Jah."

Perfect, thought Hen as she rose and went to the door. "I'll wake up Mattie Sue - she'll want to help make the pancake batter."

Rose pushed her waist-length hair back over her shoulders and offered a worried but faint smile as Hen left the room.

Emma was frowning at him as Solomon opened his eyes and awakened from a deep sleep. As his wife always wanted the shades up, the dawn was already inching into the room, about to spill forth with sunshine. She liked the shades that way even at night - "so I can see the stars," she would say.

"You all right, dear?" He reached for her slight hand.

"Our prodigal's returned," she said, sniffling. "Hen seemed to be cryin' last night, when she first arrived. Did ya see?"

He'd noticed the swollen red eyes, all right. His heart had lurched, seeing Hen's car pull into the lane yet again. Right away, he knew it wasn't a good sign. Especially her staying the night.

"I'm betwixt and between, Sol," whispered Emma, her lower lip trembling.

He touched her ashen face.

"Never thought we'd see this day."

He hadn't expected it, either. Yet, here they were with Hen - and her little girl - in the house she'd run from more than five years ago. Oh, the years of sorrow that had ensued for the daughter they'd lost. Lost to us ... to God and the church. "What's a father to do?" Sol's throat ached, but so as not to worry Emma, he pulled himself together.

Getting up from the bed, he went to the window and looked down at the barnyard. Soon the sky would brighten and another Lord's Day would begin.

"How long will she stay?" Emma said from the bed.

He turned around. "The question is: How long do we dare let her?"

"'Tis a knotty problem." Emma coughed twice and he went to her, lifting her gently out of bed and carrying her in his strong arms to the upholstered chair he'd placed nearby for her comfort. He lowered her into the seat and reached for her favorite eggshellcolored afghan to lay over her lap.

"Might it be just a lover's quarrel?" he suggested, but the gnawing in his stomach told him differently.

"Hope so." Emma folded her hands and began to move her lips silently in prayer.

Befuddled, Solomon headed down the hall to the bathroom the bishop had allowed them to install following Emma's accident. "The Lord's sure got His hands full with our Hen," he whispered.

Hen had planned to return home soon after the breakfast dishes were washed and dried and put away, but Arie Zook and her mother, Ruth, dropped by, of all people. Hen flinched as they walked toward the house, carrying a pie basket. The two hadn't spoken since Hen had run off to marry Brandon. Oh, but she should've known she would bump into Arie eventually.

How will Arie react to seeing me?

Surely the pending encounter wouldn't top the awkwardness of the breakfast she'd just endured, despite the delicious pancakes and eggs. She stiffened, recalling how Dawdi Jeremiah had studied her with a searing gaze, then looked sympathetically at Mattie Sue. No doubt he and everyone else were dying to ask what the world they were doing there without Hen's husband, staying the night like that.

She could just imagine the words buzzing around in his head. But it was her dad's inordinate emphasis on the weather during the meal that had been really annoying. Her sister had seemed to pick up on the strange dynamic happening at the table - at one point, Rose had even rolled her eyes at her. No, today's meal had been nothing like the other evening at supper, when the atmosphere had been so relaxed and joyful, full of pleasant small talk.

They must think I'm ferhoodled, leaving my English life for even a single night.

Freckle-faced Arie stepped inside the house behind her mother, her reddish brown hair neatly swept up in a bun beneath her Kapp. Petite Arie hadn't changed much at all since Hen had last seen her.

Quickly, Hen put on a smile. She wondered what her former friend might be thinking of her, but there was no addressing that, of course. She'd always hoped there might come a day when Arie would forgive her - accept her as an Englisher. But when Arie caught her eye, she looked away.

Ruth gave a curt nod to Hen, then promptly lost herself in conversation with Hen's mother there in the middle of the kitchen. Holding her breath, Hen felt nearly as if she weren't present. Yet she couldn't blame Arie for rejecting her. After all, Hen had abandoned their friendship, even breaking their girlhood pact.

Sighing, she remembered the sun-dappled August morning she and Arie had gone together to BB's Grocery Outlet, not far from Quarryville, to pick up several cases of dented canned goods for Hen's ailing aunt. It was during the buggy ride there they'd promised to be each other's wedding attendants when they were brides. Hen had even suggested they have a double wedding, if it happened they got engaged around the same time.

"How about I serve up some of this pie, Emma?" Ruth's voice interrupted Hen's reverie. And just that minute, Mattie Sue came flying into the kitchen, her grin revealing that she'd heard about the unexpected treat.

"Aren't we still full from breakfast?" Mamm said, a twinkle in her eye.

"One small sliver won't add too many pounds," Ruth said and went to the utensil drawer to get the knife.

Hen wished she'd taken Mattie home immediately after breakfast. What now?

Rose was already setting dessert plates out and placing them around the table. Glancing at her, Rose pointed to a spot. She's telling me to stay, thought Hen, scooting onto the wooden bench with Mattie Sue next to her. As a barrier ...

Everyone else gathered at the table, as well. Hen thought of saying something to Arie, but she decided not to force conversation. If Arie only knew how much I miss Amish life ... Hen sighed, eager for this encounter to be over.

As soon as she'd finished the apple pie, Mattie Sue asked to go and see the barn kitties. "Please, Mommy?"

"We're heading home soon," she said quietly, getting up from her place on the bench.

Mattie pouted. "Aw, Mommy, why?"

Here we go again, she thought, hoping Mattie wouldn't cause a scene. Especially not now.

"You've seen the kitties this morning already," she said gently, taking her daughter by the hand and moving toward the stairs. When she got to Rose's room, she closed the door behind them. "Listen to me, Mattie Sue ... you will not argue when I ask you to do something. Do you understand?"

Mattie backed away and went to sit on the floor - her typical response. At least she did not thrash her arms and throw a fit, but she was already starting to cry. "I want to go home!"

"We're leaving right now." Hen began to pack their belongings. She put Mattie's two dolls in her daughter's arms and asked her to carry them. Thankfully she obeyed without complaint. Hen was glad to have the chore of loading up the car to occupy them, in spite of the embarrassment of having to haul their suitcases past Arie and her mother. The pair was still sitting at the kitchen table as Hen and Mattie went through the kitchen and out the back door.

Rose came running after them. "I don't know how they knew yous were here visitin'," she said breathlessly.

"Well, maybe they didn't. Maybe it was just a coincidence."

Rose shrugged. "The grapevine's a fast communicator, though. Someone might've spotted your car."

"That's all right." Hen got Mattie Sue settled in the backseat, then closed the door. "It really doesn't matter."

Rose hugged her. "Did ya say good-bye to Dat yet?"

"No ... should l?"

"Might be a gut idea." Rose hung her head. "I mean, the way he seemed all out of sorts at breakfast."

"I figured you noticed." Hen glanced at the back porch. "Stay here with Mattie for a sec, all right?" And Hen trudged off to talk to her father, sidestepping the chucking rooster.

Solomon had walked up and down the backyard in his bathrobe and oldest slippers for more than an hour in the middle of the night. Now here was Hen coming toward the porch, looking like she might burst into tears. "Weeping, comin' and goin'," he muttered to himself, rising and putting down his paper, Die Botschaft.

She gave a slight wave as she neared. "I wanted to say good-bye. Mattie Sue and I are leaving now." Her voice cracked.

"You take gut care," he said, his heart in his throat.

She lowered her eyes, nodding slowly. "I never meant to upset you and Mom ... by coming."

Something welled up in him, and he moved quickly to her side. "You visit us anytime, ya hear? You're always welcome, daughter. Brandon and Mattie Sue, too."

Hen's eyes glistened in the corners as she blinked away tears. "Oh, Dad ..." She reached for him and embraced him. "For the longest time, I've wanted to say how sorry I am for pushing you and Mom aside ... out of my life." She paused, clearly struggling to speak. "I wish now I'd invited you to my wedding."

He could not speak but squeezed her hand. He nodded his head thoughtfully.

"Will you keep me in your prayers, Dad?" Her voice was as delicate as a child's.

"I never quit," Sol managed to say.

"Thank you," Hen said before she turned and left the porch.

By the time Ruth and Arie said farewell, Rose was nearly too full of pie to even think of going over to Mammi Sylvia's for some cold cuts and Jell-O, as they sometimes did on no-Preaching Sundays. Still, it was the appointed time to eat, so Dat wheeled Mamm across the back porch to the Dawdi Haus's separate entrance. Rose pondered Ruth Miller's thoughtful comment about how nice it was to see Hen again - the woman had genuinely seemed to mean it - and if Rose wasn't mistaken, Arie had given a slight bob of her head in agreement.