Clutching the letter to her chest, Katie pushed off the bed and, with the help of the moonlit windows she passed along the way, made her way down the stairs and into the kitchen. Her destination the home’s lone mirror perched atop a counter.
The light was low, but it was enough to see herself, and for a second she actually pulled back, the differences between the face in front of her and the one she’d peered into at the bus station the day before startling.
All their life, Katie and Hannah had looked like clones—the same brown eyes, the same golden-brown hair, the same high cheekbones, the same heart-shaped curve to their lips, the same five foot four height, and the same petite build. They were so identical, in fact, that if not for the differences in their behavior and the scar on Hannah’s chin from a nasty fall when they were young, one might think they were the same person.
Inside, Hannah had always been the one to try new things first, to speak to strangers first, to reach milestones first. But that was okay, because that’s the way it was, the way it had always been.
Yet the face she saw peering back at her now looked nothing like Hannah anymore. Sure, they still shared the same eyes, but now Hannah’s were flanked by long thick eyelashes the color of soot. And the golden-brown hair they both tucked under their kapps now hung down Hannah’s back in soft, silky ringlets. The shape of Hannah’s lips hadn’t changed, yet with lipstick on them, they looked fuller, prettier, fancier . . .
Katie turned to the side and studied herself from the changed angle for a few moments before rising up on tiptoes in an effort to reach Hannah’s heeled height. Without really realizing what she was doing, she found herself tossing back her shoulders and trying to pick out the kind of curves Hannah’s dress had displayed.
“Katie?”
Dropping her heels to the ground and her hand to her side, Katie turned toward the hallway and the eye-rubbing little girl blinking back at her. “Sadie, sweetie, what are you doing awake?”
“I heard a funny sound downstairs. But when I went to tell you, you were not in your bed.”
Katie crossed the room and squatted down in front of the four-year-old, the moonlight streaming through the kitchen window enough to make out the sadness in the child’s otherwise tired face. “I’m sorry if I woke you, Sadie. I . . .” She stopped, tried to come up with something she could say to explain why she was downstairs, and when she couldn’t, closed her eyes just long enough to eke out an untruth. “I needed a glass of water.”
Sadie stopped rubbing her eyes and pointed just over Katie’s shoulder. “Why were you looking in that?”
She didn’t need to look back to know Sadie was referencing the mirror. Instead, she reached out and tapped her little sister on the nose. “Because I was being silly, that’s all.”
“Hannah did that, too.”
“Hannah did what?”
Sadie nodded. “When she was here. She did that, too.”
“You mean looked in the mirror?”
Again Sadie nodded. Only this time, she turned to the side, tossed back her shoulders, and looked toward the mirror she was too little to see into. “She standed just like you.”
Katie palmed her cheeks with her cool hands and waited for the heat she found there to lessen. She tried to think of something to say, but before she could settle on something to explain her actions, Sadie ran into her arms and began to cry.
“What’s wrong, Sadie?” Katie asked as she kissed her sister’s forehead and tried her best to stop the flow of the child’s tears with her fingers.
“Please don’t go away, Katie. Please. I do not want you to go, too.”
She wiped the wetness against her dress and then rocked back into a sit, pulling Sadie onto her lap as she did. “Go? I’m not going anywhere, sweetie.”
“B-b-but H-Hannah went . . . a-and M-Mamm went.”
“Mamm is with God,” she reminded around the lump building in her throat.
“Hannah is not with God. Hannah is in the city. With Travis.” Sadie pushed her tear-soaked face against Katie’s chest and hiccupped. “I do not want you to go there to live, too.”
She heard the gasp as it left her mouth, the ludicrousness of her little sister’s words almost too hard to comprehend in relation to herself. “Me? I-I would not go there to live. I belong. . . here. In Blue Ball. With you and Annie and Mary and Jakob and Samuel and Dat.”
Sadie’s answering yawn bought Katie a moment of silence, but it didn’t last. “Do you promise?” Sadie asked around a second and far bigger yawn.
“Oh, sweetie, you’re so sleepy. Let’s get you back to bed, okay?” Katie scooted Sadie back just enough to be able to stand and then lifted the little girl into her arms for the trek back up the stairs.
Sadie looped her arm around Katie’s neck but remained upright. “I miss Mamm.”
“I know. I miss her, too.”
Sadie buried her head in Katie’s shoulder and yawned again. “You didn’t promise, Katie,” she said, her voice heavy with sleep.
“Shhh . . . We mustn’t wake Annie.”
This time when Sadie yawned, it was followed by a voice so sleepy it was only a matter of seconds before the little girl was out cold. “Please, Katie. Please say . . . you . . .”
Katie sneaked a sidelong glance at the now quiet four-year-old. Sure enough, the mouth that had been seeking reassurance less than a second earlier now hung open in sleep. Whispering a kiss across Sadie’s forehead, Katie made her way up the stairs, the occasional creak of the floorboards beneath her feet a welcome distraction from a promise she’d deliberately avoided making for no apparent reason.
Chapter 6
Katie took a sip of water from her cup and flopped back against the trunk of the tree, spent. “I didn’t know I could hit the ball so far.”
“Nor did the other side.” Ruth Zook dropped onto the ground next to Katie and giggled. “Did you hear the thump the ball made on Leroy Stoltzfus’s head? It was so loud!”
“Ohhh, Ruth, do you think I hurt him?” Katie asked, tightening her grip on her cup and looking around for any sign of Ruth’s neighbor.
“No. He was too busy making sure Martha Troyer saw him laughing about it to actually check for any bleeding.”
Katie waved off the handful of odd looks brought on by her answering gasp and then turned back to Ruth. “Bleeding? Did I really hit him that hard?”
“Yah.” Ruth broke her cookie down the middle and held out half to Katie. “I know it is wrong to keep eating these, but they are so good, aren’t they?”
Waving off the offer, Katie took a second, longer gulp of water. “You could eat ten cookies and it would not change anything.”
Ruth nibbled her cookie half in silence before rotating her body on the ground to afford a better view of Katie. “I’m glad you came today. So is Abram.”
She lowered the cup to her dress-clad lap and lifted her gaze to the late-afternoon sun. “Dat insisted.”
And he had.
Every time she offered a reason she shouldn’t go to the hymn sing with her peers, Dat had given a reason to the contrary, with the most convincing being the simple fact it was Sunday and she was to enjoy the day. Still, it was hard. Hard to be playing volleyball and singing as if everything was as it should be.
“It was a surprise to see Hannah.”
Katie tightened her grip on her cup. “Why?”
“I didn’t think she would come.”
“Mamm went to be with God. Of course, Hannah would come.”
Ruth finished the cookie and then wiped her hands against one another in an effort to rid them of any residual crumbs. “But she is of the English world now.”
“That doesn’t matter. She is still my sister. She is still Mamm and Dat’s daughter.” She heard the defensive tone in her voice and tried her best to rein it in. “Miss Lottie was there, too, Ruth, and she is English.”
A round of laughter stole their collective attention for a moment and Katie was glad. But like everything el
se, it didn’t last long.
“Hannah is so”—Ruth leaned forward across her lap and tugged at a piece of grass, stopping short of actually plucking it out of the ground—“different now.”
“She is not different,” Katie protested, the words hollow even to her own ears. “She is still Hannah.”
Ruth made a face. “She wore such tight clothes and . . . makeup. And I saw her”—Ruth looked around them before lowering her voice to a whisper—“in the barn . . . back by one of the empty stalls.”
“Perhaps she was looking for one of the barn cats. Fancy Feet was always her favorite, while Mr. Nosey was mine.”
“She was not looking for barn cats, Katie.”
Something about Ruth’s tone drew her up short. “Oh?”
“She was kissing that man.”
Katie knew the sudden warmth in her face had nothing to do with the sun, but still, she raised her hand as a shield against its waning rays. “You mean Travis?”
“Yah.”
“Travis is her boyfriend, Ruth.”
“You and Abram do not do that.”
Katie stole a peek at the makeshift volleyball court and immediately located Ruth’s brother amid his same dressed counterparts. Roughly a good six inches taller than Katie, Abram moved with ease as he chased the ball, determined to keep it from hitting the ground even if he, himself, did time and time again. Each time he dove for the ball, he came back up laughing; the rich sound a welcome one.
Abram Zook was a handsome man. His bright blue eyes reminded Katie of a pretty summer sky. When he smiled at her, as he was at that moment, they shimmered like the top of the pond on a sunny day. His hair, unlike Travis’s, was covered by a hat, but the ends that escaped the brim’s base had a habit of curling around his ears whenever he sweat.
There was a quiet confidence about Abram that made her feel safe and at peace whenever he was near, and she liked that. Yet when she tried to imagine what it would be like to be enveloped in his arms with his lips on hers, she couldn’t.
“Hannah can wear and do whatever she wants now,” Katie reminded, turning back to Ruth. “She has chosen to be English just as I have chosen to be Amish.”
“It was not a good choice.”
“It was her choice, Ruth—one she made before baptism! So it is not wrong for Hannah to be English!” Aware of the emotion gathering behind her eyes, Katie blinked hard. She could feel the tears hovering, but it was the why behind them that she didn’t understand. Hadn’t she, too, just days earlier, thought all the same things Ruth was saying? And if she didn’t agree with Abram’s sister, did that mean she thought Hannah’s decision to leave was good?
Katie took another, longer sip of water and forced herself to relax. Ruth was her friend and didn’t mean any harm with her words. “I’m sorry, Ruth.” She lowered the cup back down to her lap. “I didn’t mean to raise my voice.”
Ruth opened her mouth to respond but closed it as Abram joined them beneath the canopy of the maple tree.
“Would you like to play again, Katie?” He hooked his thumb over his shoulder toward the volleyball net he’d helped set up.
She looked out at the faces of her friends—some she’d known since childhood, others she’d met through the weekly hymn sings—and then back up at Abram, the hope in his eyes as plain to see as his suspenders and brimmed hat.
Abram Zook was a good man. Two years her senior, he was hardworking and kind. A year earlier, when they’d met at this same home, Katie had found him funny and sweet. He’d known much about many things—like Dat. They’d played volleyball with everyone, yet between games, they had gravitated toward one another. Within a few weeks, he asked if he could drive her home in his wagon and Dat had agreed.
That first ride together had been such fun. They’d talked about the crops he was planting with his dat, the pies she and Hannah had helped Mamm make for the after-church meal, and the stars that seemed to dance in the sky above them as Abram drove her home.
It was on their third ride together that Abram told Katie of his love of woodworking. His enthusiasm for his craft had been so contagious she’d almost told him of her drawings, but she hadn’t. She liked Abram very much and she didn’t want to make him look at her differently.
“Katie?”
At the sound of her name, she tightened her focus on the man looking back at her, his bright blue eyes muted with concern. For her.
“Would you like me to drive you home, instead?” he asked, his voice hushed.
She knew she should say no in favor of another game of volleyball, but she couldn’t. She’d smiled enough for a day without Mamm. “Yah.”
“But you cannot go yet, Katie.” Ruth gestured toward the food strewn tables just beyond the volleyball net. “There is more to eat and we must sing.”
Abram extended his hand to Katie and, when she took it, helped her to her feet before addressing his sister. “Katie is ready to go and I will see her home.”
* * *
“It is too early for stars,” Abram said as he urged the horse forward and onto the narrow road that would lead them back to Blue Ball.
She braced her feet against the wagon floor as they cleared a series of ruts and then turned her attention to the unreadable face beside hers. “I’m sorry, Abram. I could stay longer if that is best.”
“I did not say that to make you feel bad, Katie. I said that only because I am used to seeing stars when I drive you home.” He guided the horse closer to the edge of the road to allow a car to pass and then relaxed his grip on the reins. “How are you holding up?”
For a moment she was surprised by the question but only for as long as it took to remember who was doing the asking. Abram was different from many of the boys she’d known growing up. He was strong and sure like Dat, but he liked to talk more than most and he was a wonderful listener. Always.
“I miss her, Abram. The house is not the same without her.”
“You are speaking of your mamm?”
She stared up at him. “Of course. Who else would I be speaking. . .” The words trailed from her mouth as the meaning behind his question took root. “Hannah has been gone for nearly a year, Abram.”
“And you have missed her for nearly a year.”
Unsure of what to say, she let her focus fan out over the farmhouses and fields to their left and their right while she searched for an answer she could give without crying. When she came up empty, she changed the subject enough to be able to speak. “She looked pretty the other day, didn’t she?”
“Who?”
“Hannah.”
He started to speak, stopped himself, and then took his eyes off the road just long enough to meet hers. “You are pretty, Katie.”
“I am plain,” she murmured. “In more ways than one.”
They drove for a while in a silence peppered only by the occasional sound of an approaching car or the distant yet distinctive moo of a cow. It was the same way every Sunday night when they drove home together from a hymn sing. She considered asking him if the sameness of their world ever bothered him, but she knew what his answer would be. Abram had chosen the Amish way.
And so, too, had she.
“I don’t know how Dat can do it,” she finally said. “He and Mamm were together for so long.”
“It is God’s will, Katie. That is how your dat continues.”
“Do you really believe that? That Mamm dying is God’s will?” she whispered.
“You don’t?”
“I-I don’t know how it could be. Mamm left us too soon. Annie and Sadie are still so little and . . .” She sucked in a breath as the words she never meant to utter aloud circled around to her ears. “Oh, Abram. Can we pretend I didn’t say that? I-I know Mamm’s passing is God’s will.”
It was not the truth, but she was too tired for a lecture. She knew what the Amish believed. She, too, had been baptized.
Still, she braced herself for a response that never came. Instead, Abram pulled the horse to a stop a
nd turned to Katie. “It is okay to be sad, Katie. You don’t have to keep it inside when you are with me. I want you to tell me what is in your heart.”
“There is much sadness,” she whispered.
“I know.” At the feel of his fingertips beneath her chin, she lifted her watery gaze from its resting spot atop her boots and fixed it, instead, on the face peering back at her. “I know we have spoken of getting married, and we will. None of this has changed that, Katie. Soon, Annie will be older and Mary can take over with both her and Sadie. When that happens, we will marry.”
She felt his eyes probing hers, waiting for a yes or a smile or some sort of relieved agreement, but she felt none of those things. “I-I . . .”
He closed his hand over hers and squeezed. “Everything will be all right, Katie. Do not worry. This, too, is God’s will.”
Chapter 7
One by one, the days gave way to a week, two weeks, three weeks, and, finally, a month. And little by little, the smiles that had once been so easy to come by when Mamm was alive began to reappear, coaxed from their hiding places by life and time.
Now, when Samuel and Jakob came in from the fields, they told Katie of their work over a drink of cold water. Now, when Mary got frustrated over a stitch she couldn’t get right, she asked Katie for help rather than dissolving into tears she was unable to hide. Now, when Sadie played with her dolls, she told them she was their Katie instead of their Mamm. And now, when Annie woke from her afternoon nap, she focused on Katie’s face rather than looking past it for Mamm’s.
It wasn’t that they’d forgotten Mamm. One only had to listen to their prayers at night and see their pained expressions when they looked at Mamm’s empty seat at the table to know that wasn’t the case. They’d simply found a new routine in which to frame their days and, for that, Katie was grateful.
The days were busy with cleaning, sewing, mending, cooking, and gardening. In the evenings, after the dishes had been cleaned and put away, Katie loved to put Annie on one knee and Sadie on the other, and tell them silly stories about the barn cats. More than a few times, she’d been so engrossed in what she was saying she missed the moment Jakob and Mary had scooted their chairs closer so as not to miss out on the fun.
Portrait of a Sister Page 5
