by Leslie Gould
“Don’t worry about it.” Noelle took a stack of plates from the cupboard. “It was a long time ago.”
“No. I feel awful,” she said. “You two were perfect together. I felt so bad for Jesse when you called it off—or when I thought you called it off. I wanted to console him. . . .”
Noelle blinked as she scooted a piece of pie onto the first plate. She wished Barbara would stop talking. Perhaps she sensed Noelle’s discomfort because she at least changed the topic. “I stopped by and saw Salome on Friday. It’s a shame about her back.”
Noelle nodded.
“I think probably the stress of caring for your Mamm finally caught up with her.”
Noelle cocked her head.
“And, of course, the stress of Moriah’s loss. And now that the one-year anniversary is here, I think they’re all having a hard time.”
Noelle agreed.
“Salome said how fortunate you are to be young. To have a strong back. To only have yourself to think of, instead of a family too.”
Noelle froze. She had Dat to think of. True, there was only one of him, but it wasn’t as if she was carefree.
“Salome didn’t say this, but I gathered she’s feeling the weight of your entire family on her shoulders. Your Mamm was so good at keeping everyone connected.”
Noelle felt a wave of sympathy for Salome. Perhaps being the oldest sister was harder for Salome than Noelle realized.
Barbara jumped topics again. “I’ll really miss that sweet baby if they go back to Montana.”
Confused, Noelle froze, the coffeepot in midair. “What?”
“You didn’t know?” The woman continued on before Noelle could respond. “Greta’s grandparents in Montana are hoping he’ll go back.”
Noelle looked past Barbara at Jesse and the baby, who were sitting together on the sofa. While Dat and Ben talked, Jesse made funny faces at the little girl. Why did Noelle feel sad at the thought of Jesse leaving again? Wasn’t that what she wanted?
On Monday evening, Noelle traipsed through the snow to Salome’s house and asked if she wanted to go to the cardiologist appointment the next morning. Salome assured her she didn’t. “You can handle this,” she said. “My back still isn’t doing well.”
“Does that mean I’ll be doing the market again?”
“Jah. It’s just three more days.”
Noelle turned to go but then stopped and faced her sister again. “We haven’t found a place to have Family Christmas. How about if we just have it in the shed? We can get the church wagon benches and put them around in a big circle.”
“The Beyers are using the benches for their gathering,” Salome said. “Besides, if we did that, I’d end up doing all the work.”
Noelle didn’t bother to say that she’d do everything. Cook the turkeys and hams. Set up. Clean up. All of it, if she needed to. “Aren’t our sisters and their families planning on getting together?”
Salome shook her head. “They’ve all left messages on my machine, and I’ve called everyone back to tell them we’re not doing it.”
Noelle’s heart sank. “But what about Dat? He wants us to get together. He’ll be disappointed.”
Salome sighed. “I don’t think he will. He told me he doesn’t feel up to much these days. You’re right—he’s worse than I’d realized. I think it will be a relief for him too.”
Flabbergasted, Noelle stuttered, “That’s not what he’s said.”
“Nothing lasts forever. There are seasons in life and this one has ended.” Salome crossed her arms. “You’d better go check with LuAnne about who’s looking after Dat the next three days. I think Paul will be gone for most of Thursday. I’m not sure the same schedule will work.”
Deflated, Noelle said, “I’ll go talk to LuAnne.” As she left Salome’s, she realized she was looking forward to working at the market on Thursday. She wanted to see if she could sell even more products than she had the week before. And she wanted to see Holly and Carlos. And, even though it was hard to admit it, there was a part of her that wanted to see Jesse too.
CHAPTER SEVEN
Tuesday morning, Pamela picked up Dat and Noelle for the cardiologist’s appointment. The office was a block from the hospital in Lancaster. Again, Noelle felt anxious. After a long wait, Dat was finally called back to the exam room. Noelle held his arm as he shuffled along, his cane dragging along the carpet.
Dr. Morrison turned out to be a middle-aged woman with straight, shoulder-length gray hair. She chatted with Dat, putting him at ease, and then took his medical history. She then asked him about his family medical history.
Dat acknowledged that his father had died of a heart attack in his late sixties. “And all of his brothers died in their sixties or seventies, probably from heart problems,” he said. “But I am not certain. They were spread all over Pennsylvania.”
The doctor asked him to describe how far he could walk without getting winded, and he answered, “By the time I walk from my bed to my chair, I am ready to sit down.”
The doctor listened to his lungs, commenting that there were signs of congestion. Then she listened to his heart. When she finished she said, “I’m picking up abnormal heart sounds that indicate heart failure. And your EKG from your hospital visit indicates an enlarged heart.” The doctor smiled at him kindly. “Many people with heart failure have high blood pressure, which you don’t presently have. We’ll monitor that. But I will prescribe an angiotensin-converting enzyme inhibitor, which will help open up your narrowed blood vessels.”
“I am not afraid to die,” Dat said.
The doctor nodded. “I guessed that about you. But I don’t want you to have any unnecessary discomfort or pain either.” She looked from Dat to Noelle and back to Dat. “You have class IV congestive heart failure. You should do what you enjoy doing and spend as much time with loved ones as possible. Most people with this condition live a year or so after being diagnosed.”
Noelle’s hand flew to her chest. She was going to lose Dat too. Forcing her hand back to her lap, she exhaled. It wouldn’t do any good for Dat to see her alarmed.
The doctor said to pick up the medication at the pharmacy attached to the clinic, and then that she wanted to see Dat again in a month. “Call me if you have any questions.” She looked at Noelle. “Don’t hesitate to call 9-1-1, like you did before, if your Dat worsens.”
Dr. Morrison leaned toward Dat. “This is tough news. I know you’re brave, but are you doing all right?”
He nodded. “I lost my wife three months ago. I would like to stay around longer for Noelle—she’s my youngest daughter—but like I said, I am not afraid to die.” His gaze met Noelle’s. “And this should give me time to figure out things for her.”
The doctor nodded at Dat. “I admire your fortitude.” Then she smiled at Noelle. “And yours too.”
Noelle wanted to protest about hers, but she wouldn’t make things worse for Dat.
As they sat in the pharmacy waiting room, Dat, grasping his cane, leaned toward her and said, “I’m going to spend the day at LuAnne’s on Thursday. She came over while you were taking the wash off the line yesterday.”
“Why didn’t she talk to me?”
“I think she was afraid you wouldn’t approve, but I am fine with it. I enjoy being around the children. You can have Pamela drop me off when she takes you, to spare me from walking over.”
Noelle agreed.
He turned toward her, his pale eyes shining. “Let’s not tell the others about my condition until after Christmas. I will call and tell them then.” He smiled a little. “Let’s have one last Family Christmas, our first with your Mamm gone and perhaps our last before I go, with no extra sadness or fussing over me.”
Noelle inhaled and then swallowed hard, feeling as if she couldn’t speak. She stared down at her snow boots as she exhaled. “Salome doesn’t think we should have it this year.”
“Well, we should.” Dat tugged on his nearly white beard. “This is my family. I want us to
be together.”
“But we don’t have anywhere to meet together. LuAnne and I both tried to figure something out and haven’t been able to.”
“Let’s both ask the Lord to provide a place, then. And wait and see what happens.”
Pray? Jah. But wait? Noelle wasn’t sure if that was the best thing to do anymore. Perhaps she’d waited long enough for too many things already. But she had no idea what else she could do.
Wednesday morning, when it was obvious Moriah wasn’t coming to help, Noelle walked over to Salome’s again. This time it was not to try to solve the Family Christmas dilemma—jah, she was praying and trying to figure out what she could do—but to beg Moriah one more time to help her.
This time Ted answered the door. Moriah sat at the table, a mug in her hand. Thankfully she was dressed. That seemed to be a good sign.
Noelle stomped the snow from her boots and asked Moriah again for assistance. “I can’t do this alone,” she said.
Moriah stared for a moment.
“Are you doing anything else today?” Noelle asked.
Her niece shook her head.
“I think I can do really well with sales, if I have enough product. And I can’t come home on Thursday and Friday and mix up enough to bake and then sell the next day. Mixing up the dough and fillings today will give me a good head start, so tomorrow all I will have to do is bake. I need help.”
Moriah wrinkled her nose.
Ted nodded. “Noelle is right. She’s bringing in the money, but we can’t expect her to do it all by herself.”
Noelle wasn’t sure he’d defend her if Salome was in the room, but she was thankful for him speaking up. “And the truth is, I’m lonely baking by myself. It isn’t nearly as enjoyable as it would be with you. I miss you.” Working in the Kicha alone paled in comparison to baking with someone she loved.
Moriah sighed and then finally said, “I’ll come over when I’m done with breakfast.”
Noelle thanked her and left. She’d confess her jealousy to Moriah as soon as she arrived. It had been a long time coming.
Even though Noelle had been determined to speak with Moriah, she found herself full of fear. The kitchen was filled with the aroma of the first batch of half-moon pies already baking, the savory scent of the crusts mixing with the sweetness of the apples. As Noelle continued to try to work up her courage, Moriah said, “Thank you for insisting I come over today. I feel better working with you.”
“What do you mean?”
“I’ve been—depressed. Much worse than after Eugene died even. This first-year anniversary has hit me really hard.” Moriah dumped vanilla into the sugar and butter mixture in the bowl for the creamstick filling and then began to mix it with a wooden spoon.
Noelle’s heart skipped a beat. Moriah had been under a lot of stress, but Noelle hadn’t been empathetic. Not at all. She reached for her niece’s hand and squeezed it. “I’m so sorry.”
Moriah’s eyes misted over. “Denki. I hope I can shake this.”
Noelle wanted to say “You will,” but she couldn’t know. “Come over whenever you can. And I’ll check in with you more.”
As she rolled the dough for more half-moon pies, her grip tightened on the handles of the rolling pin that had been worn smooth by years of use by Mamm. Noelle cleared her throat. “I need to speak with you about something, to apologize.”
Moriah gave her a questioning look.
Noelle put the rolling pin down and wiped her hands on her apron. “After Jesse left, when you and Eugene married, I was jealous. Really jealous. It wasn’t that I wasn’t happy for you. I was. But at the same time I was full of self-pity.” Noelle met her niece’s gaze. “I’m sorry.”
Moriah nodded curtly. “I knew you were.” She drug the back of her hand across her forehead. “And then, when Eugene died, were you happy? Relieved I wouldn’t have a husband after all?”
Noelle gasped. “No. Of course not. Why would you think that?”
Moriah shrugged. “Because you were so jealous before.”
Noelle feared she might dissolve into tears. “No wonder you’ve been so cold to me.”
“Jah. At first I was just numb. But as the first anniversary approaches, it all hit me again. And I felt so disconnected from you.”
Noelle had heard once that sin separates. She could see that. Her jealousy had put a wedge between her and Moriah. And that had led Moriah to believe that Noelle could actually find relief in Eugene’s death. “I’m so sorry.” Noelle grasped Mamm’s old rolling pin again as she spoke, as if she could find strength in it. “I found no joy in Eugene dying. My jealousy was from my own grief.” The thought made her ill. “Actually, from my own hurt pride that Jesse didn’t come back and embarrassment that I wouldn’t be marrying.”
“But you didn’t want him to come back.”
Noelle’s heart sank. “Barbara said she heard that too, but she couldn’t remember who told her. But I know I didn’t tell anyone that.”
“Mamm told me. She said you were done with Jesse. She told me and a few other women.”
“Like whom?”
“Well, Barbara . . . like you said.” Moriah’s face grew red. “Mamm said you were so mad at him you didn’t care if he ever returned.”
Noelle grasped the rolling pin again, bracing herself against the hollowness growing inside of her. “I don’t remember saying that. . . . It’s certainly not the way I felt.” Had she said something similar? Something that Salome could have misconstrued? She had been mad at Jesse for leaving—especially when she felt she needed him most.
A wave of nausea swept through Noelle. To think Salome told others Noelle didn’t care if Jesse ever returned—before he started dating the Englisch girl.
Noelle released the rolling pin and rubbed her hands on her apron. “I can’t remember what exactly I said about Jesse, but when he left, even though we’d fought over him leaving at all, I expected he would come home. I still expected we’d marry. That I’d spend the rest of my life with him.”
Moriah wiped her hands on her apron. “I’m so surprised to hear that. It’s not what people were talking about, not at all.”
It all made sense now. Noelle must have said something out of frustration, and Salome had misinterpreted it. She’d gossiped about what she didn’t understand. What a horrible combination, like a bad batch of yeast that caused the dough to fall flat and useless instead of rise.
Another wave of nausea swept through her. “I’ll be right back,” she said to Moriah and then hurried down the hall to the bathroom. After locking the door behind her, she couldn’t stop the tears as she sat on the edge of the tub. A sob shook her and then another.
Moriah knocked on the door. “Are you all right?”
“Jah,” Noelle managed to gasp. “I’ll be out in a minute.” Nothing was as she thought it was. Jesse hadn’t come back because he felt rejected, not because he’d rejected her. Not because he’d found someone who was more fun, more outgoing. But simply due to Salome’s gossip. Another round of sobs shook her.
But she had to take responsibility too. She shouldn’t have said anything to anyone, especially not Salome—she knew better. And she should have written Jesse a letter or, better yet, called him. She knew his wounds and his fears of being abandoned after his father died and his Mamm left.
She thought of him, alone in Montana. Feeling rejected. She couldn’t help but ache for him, for that young man from three years ago. If only she could reach out to him and tell him so.
Finally she composed herself and washed her face.
When she returned to the kitchen, Moriah shot her a concerned look. Noelle ducked her head and, with a heavy heart, grasped the rolling pin again and went to work on the pie dough.
It was her careless words that had done Jesse harm. Now she needed to apologize to him too.
Thursday morning as Noelle rode with Pamela to the market, they passed a windmill with its blades spinning wildly. Although there was now only a dusting of snow
on the ground, it was bitter cold outside. And windy. Noelle felt as icy on the inside as the weather was on the outside.
She’d all but given up on Family Christmas. Jah, she and Dat had prayed, and she’d been determined to do what she could to find something. But nothing had come from their prayers. Or from her hopes.
The Advent verse she’d read that morning was Psalm 29:11. The LORD will give strength unto his people; the LORD will bless his people with peace. She didn’t feel peace about not having Family Christmas. Nor about Jesse. Could she feel joy if she felt no peace? Did she have enough faith that she’d be able to experience either?
When Noelle arrived at the market, Holly and Carlos helped carry in boxes while she wheeled the rest on the dolly. “Are you ready for a crazy day?” Holly asked.
“Jah.” If only she could do well enough to convince Salome that her new ideas could succeed.
As Noelle unpacked and placed her baked goods on the shelves, she snuck a glance at Jesse’s booth. But he wasn’t there. The man she’d seen the first day she’d worked at the market, the carpenter who’d hired Jesse, was setting up the merchandise.
Noelle’s heart lurched. Perhaps Jesse and Greta had returned to Montana already. Perhaps she’d missed her chance to apologize to him. If so, she’d need to write him a letter.
“Where’s Jesse?” Holly asked.
Noelle shrugged.
“Why don’t you go ask that guy?”
“Good idea.” She grabbed an apple half-moon pie—there wasn’t an Amish man in the world who wouldn’t eat one in the morning with his coffee—and headed toward the carpenter.
“Guder Mariye.” She handed him the pie. “How are you doing?”
He grinned. “Gut.” Taking the pie, he added, “Denki.”
“I’m a friend of Jesse’s,” Noelle said. “And thought I’d check up on him.”
“Jah, well, someone needs to,” the man teased as he unwrapped the pie.
Noelle didn’t want to ask if Jesse had returned to Montana. She scrambled for a moment, not sure how to phrase her question. Finally she asked, “Is he ill?”
