The Judgment

by Beverly Lewis

  She remembered something her grandfather Jeremiah often said when she was little: “If you marry in haste, you’ll repent in leisure.”

  Hen made her way to the wooden hooks near the back door, where she kept her black shawl and outer bonnet. Donning them, she then headed next door to help her grandmother with Mom, hoping by some miracle things might’ve taken a turn for the better. Apart from that, she didn’t see how her mother could continue living.

  Her sister strongly encouraged Rose to attend the quilting bee on Thursday morning, even though Rose protested mildly, determined to take her turn looking after Mamm, who, despite her continuing pain, seemed slightly better today. But despite her repeated objections, both Hen and Mammi Sylvia assured her they were planning to be on hand to assist.

  “Only if you’re sure,” Rose replied.

  “Go on, now,” Mammi Sylvia said, flapping a dish towel at her.

  I’m sure getting out of the house more often, she thought with a pang of guilt.

  When Rose arrived at the Esh farmhouse, she was happy to see Mandy and an older sister, Linda. Soon Rose was seated at the north end of the large quilting frame—where she was told Annie Mast typically sat. Not long after, here came Arie Zook, Hen’s friend, with her six-month-old baby, Levi, sound asleep in her arms. Mandy offered the downstairs bedroom for a quiet spot for the wee one, and right away Arie was back, looking tired but saying how eager she was to have some “woman-talk.” Rose assumed it had been a busy and, perhaps, trying week for Arie as a young mother of two. She didn’t ask where Arie’s three-year-old, Becky, was spending the day, but guessed either Arie’s mother or mother-in-law was babysitting.

  One by one, all twelve spots at the frame were filled with expert quilters, including Mandy and Linda’s mother, Laura, and a number of Esh girl cousins. Together they worked, talking and laughing, even having a contest to see who could get the most stitches on a single needle. Laura was the consistent winner with eight, although she was humble about it, ducking her head and blushing pink.

  There was plenty of gossip, more than usual, what with the wedding season in full swing. Several more couples had been published at the last Preaching service, which meant some of the womenfolk present would have to choose between two, or even three, wedding invitations in a single day.

  Hours later, after a pause for the noontime dinner of mashed potatoes, two kinds of meat, and many desserts made by the hostess, they resumed their work. When the quilting was finished, all that was left to do was the edge, which several women would hem once the patchwork quilt was removed from the frame. The group seemed pleased that yet another quilt was nearly ready to be included in the Christmas batch going to Philadelphia next Thursday morning. Mandy said there would be any number of tied comforters, too, which took less time to complete than the intricately stitched quilts.

  During a lull in the conversation, Mandy asked who’d like to go along to help deliver the quilts. When Mandy and Linda both turned and openly stared at her, Rose felt her cheeks flush. Not wanting to appear anxious to volunteer, she nodded slowly, agreeing to go with Mandy and her mother, who planned to hire a Mennonite van driver.

  The women said their good-byes, and Rose hitched up her horse and buggy and headed home, still aware of Mandy’s and Linda’s gawking at her. Why? What do they think they know?

  Yet all during the buggy ride home, Rose had the strangest, nearly giddy feeling about the upcoming trip. It’s not like I’ll see Nick there, she kept telling herself . . . but a part of her surely hoped otherwise.

  Chapter 19

  Seeing Brandon’s car pull into the driveway on Saturday and inch toward Hen’s Dawdi Haus, Solomon picked up his pace through the pasture. He kept walking, finding it curious that Brandon merely sat there in his car, not getting out. Cold feet? Sol wondered. He held his breath and hoped this wretched separation might come to a quick end.

  Sol was fast approaching the barnyard now. He figured Brandon might just end up staying put in his fancy car if Sol didn’t go over and make some small talk. Maybe he could help his son-in-law work up the nerve to go and knock on his bride’s door.

  “Hullo, Brandon. Can I help ya?” Sol said through the car window.

  Brandon rolled down the glass. “I can’t believe I came all the way out to the sticks to talk to my wife.” He looked over at the little house. “Would you mind giving her a message for me?”

  “Be glad to.”

  “Tell Hen I received her letter . . . and, in a word, the conditions she laid out are preposterous.” Brandon muttered something under his breath, as if talking to himself.

  Sol was taken by surprise. “All right.” Wishing he could do something to fix this, he glanced at the main house. “Say, we’re havin’ some mighty tasty roast beef for supper. Can ya stay and eat?”

  “No, thanks.”

  “Suit yourself.”

  Brandon turned the key in the ignition. “Will you tell Hen one more thing? I’ll be contacting my lawyer first thing Monday. Time’s up!”

  Sol felt his stomach tighten into a knot. “What happened to giving her more time?”

  “I’ve changed my mind. Unless she’s getting independent counsel, she’ll need to come to his office, since she refuses to do the sensible thing and return home.”

  Sol’s mouth dropped open. Brandon was clearly fed up. “I’ll let her know.”

  He didn’t wait for Brandon to back up and leave. Sol waved disgustedly and headed for the barn.

  Hen flinched and her body sagged when her father repeated the words Brandon had so curtly spoken to him. We’re coming undone, she thought, closing the door behind her father as he left for the main house.

  She headed upstairs to look in on Mattie Sue, who was playing in her room with some of Rose’s faceless dolls. Oodles of them were in rows along the braided rug where she sat. “Hi, sweetie.”

  “Mommy?” Mattie Sue said as she looked up from her cozy spot. “Do I have to wear English clothes to visit Daddy next time?”

  If there is a next time, Hen thought crossly.

  “We’ll see, honey.” She didn’t want to trouble Mattie Sue with the latest news from Brandon. But she had to do something, even if it meant getting her own lawyer. And just what would the bishop say about that?

  Oh, she just didn’t know how to make any of her plans work anymore. But as Hen sat down on Mattie Sue’s bed, she knew one thing for sure: She absolutely refused to take her daughter back to an English life. They were not going back to Egypt, so to speak. And she was not handing precious Mattie Sue over to the world without a fight of her own.

  Rose was surprised when Hen announced she wouldn’t be coming for supper but asked if Mattie Sue might eat with them again. Her sister’s face looked nearly beet red, like she was ill with a fever. “You all right, Hen?”

  “No, I’m not . . . and please don’t ask anything more.” She turned to leave by way of the back door.

  “Mommy’s upset—bees,” Mattie Sue told Beth where she sat in the corner of the kitchen writing in her blue notebook. “That’s Pennsylvania Dutch, ya know.”

  “What’s wrong with her?” Beth looked up as Mattie Sue sat down near her at the table.

  “I don’t know.” Mattie began to cry. She put her little head down on her arms and leaned on the table, sobbing.

  Well, what the world? Rose rushed to her side at the bench and put her arm around her niece. “Honey . . . honey,” she said, patting Mattie’s back.

  Meanwhile, Mammi Sylvia stepped into the kitchen, coming from Mamm’s bedroom nearby. “Beth, will you go and read some of your poetry to Emma? She’s askin’ for you.”

  “Prayers that rhyme,” Beth said when Rose caught her eye. Beth closed her notebook and got up quickly to go in and see Mamm.

  Mammi Sylvia’s eyes grew serious. “Your mother also wants to see you, Rose Ann . . . and Hen, if she’s around.”

  Rose’s heart fell. “Is she . . . ?”

  Mammi shook her head. “S
he’s not gut at all. Her spirits are as low as I’ve ever seen them.” She looked tenderly at Mattie Sue. “I’d be happy to take over for ya here.”

  Rose kissed Mattie’s cheek and went to wait at the door for Beth to exit Mamm’s bedroom. She could hear Beth reading the sweetest poem-like prayer. Tears welled up, and Rose wished Hen was here now and not off wherever she’d gone. Most likely to see Brandon, she thought with concern.

  Truth was, her sister hadn’t looked so good. And she’d been curt, too, much like the way she’d been back when she and Brandon were secretly dating.

  Comfort and guide my sister, dear Lord. And be ever near to Mamm, too.

  Rose wiped away her tears and put on a smile for her ailing mother, hoping to cheer her with her presence, just as Beth surely was now.

  Hen didn’t bother to wait for the front door to open after she rang the doorbell. This was her house, too, so she turned the doorknob and walked right in. Terry had obviously taken leave of the place. The kitchen looked like someone had left all the windows open during a windstorm, and food was standing out on the counters. The dishwasher gaped wide and the table was speckled with crumbs and dribbles of coffee.

  She hated the thought of looking downstairs in the family room, where Brandon liked to sit in front of the tube and eat snacks. Now that I’m gone, he’s probably camping out there.

  Glad Terry was most likely gone, Hen wished Brandon would appear. Surely he hadn’t left the front door unlocked. It wasn’t like living with the Amish, where doors were never locked.

  Amishville, she thought, chagrined. “If that’s what he thinks . . .” she muttered as she made her way through the house, heading for the bedroom.

  She heard the shower running and thought it best to wait to spring her surprise on him once he was out and dressed. Going to Mattie’s former bedroom, she sat on the twin bed and rehearsed what she planned to tell her husband. No backing down!

  Lying on the bed, she closed her eyes and pictured going to the lawyer’s office—her lawyer. She would get the best attorney in all of Lancaster, too. It was her best hope for getting custody of Mattie Sue. There was no fooling around with a man like Brandon.

  Hen’s emotional exhaustion overtook her and she dozed off momentarily in Mattie Sue’s cozy bed. She dreamed she was waiting on pins and needles for word from Brandon’s hotshot lawyer, hoping the powers that be wouldn’t take Mattie Sue away from her. The dream became murky as she heard the sound of footsteps, which she soon realized, as she awakened in a haze, were not in her dream at all.

  When she opened her eyes, there was Brandon standing over her, towel drying his hair. “Wha—? I guess I fell asleep.”

  “Well, hello to you, too,” he said. “Do you ever call ahead? Oh, that’s right—you don’t have a house phone over in farmers’ town.”

  “Brandon,” Hen said, sitting up. “I came by to tell you I’m getting representation.”

  “Oh really?” He eyed her. “Guess you’ll have to use my phone to make the call, right? Of course, you’ll be lucky to find a law office that’s open on a Saturday.”

  She shrugged off his comment. “Dad said you basically laughed at my requirements . . . for my return home.”

  “You bet I did!” He turned to leave, then stopped in the doorway. Facing her, he added, “I’m putting the house on the market, too. Mattie and I will make do with something smaller.”

  Mattie and I . . .

  “Maybe we’ll move closer to my parents in New York.”

  The blood drained from her face and she felt faint. Breathing slowly, purposefully, Hen shook her head. “How can you be so sure you’ll get custody?”

  “Because, my dear wife, you are out of touch with reality. You live in Amishland . . . remember? You prefer horses and buggies to modern transportation, and you dress like a . . .” He paused to eyeball her outfit. “Like something out of the Salem Witch trials.”

  She felt like crying as Brandon marched out of the room.

  Angry enough to raise her voice at him, Hen bit her tongue and headed to the kitchen to look for an attorney’s office to call. Might as well use his phone book, she thought, shaking with fury. I can’t afford to lose any more time.

  Chapter 20

  Rose saw Hen drive into the lane and park behind the barn

  that evening after an early supper. Hen’s face looked puffy and red as she walked toward the house. Rose rushed out to meet her. “You all right, sister?”

  Hen leaned her head on Rose’s shoulder as they embraced. “I doubt I’ll ever be right again,” she whispered. “I honestly don’t see how . . .”

  Rose felt hesitant to tell Hen how very anxious Mamm was now. The recent scare with the new pain medication had left her more desperate for her future than usual. Hen has so much to think about, let alone adding Mamm, too.

  But Rose couldn’t just hope Mamm would pull out of her murky depression—she had to let Hen know their mother’s situation. So she forged ahead, holding Hen’s hand as they walked slowly toward the house. “Mamm’s askin’ to see you, Hen,” she said softly. “She needs the comfort of her oldest daughter . . . and your prayers, too.”

  It was nearly eight o’clock when Hen left her mother’s sickbed. She felt sad that she’d been away when Mamm had initially called for her—sad, too, that in her present state there was little she could do to encourage her mother. She walked back to her Dawdi Haus, where she encouraged Mattie Sue to get ready for bed, all the while praying silently for her mom. If she can have occasional good days . . . is it possible for her to feel better more often than not, dear Lord?

  Sometime later, while reading her Bible, Hen heard footsteps on the porch and looked up to see Brandon standing at the back door. “Goodness, what’s he doing here?” she whispered, startled.

  Without giving it a second thought, she hurried to let him in. “Brandon?”

  He frowned when she opened the door. “I’m taking Mattie Sue home.”

  Hen trembled. “But . . . she’s already in her nightclothes.”

  “Nightclothes, Hen? C’mon . . . that’s so archaic.”

  Hen ignored his ridicule. “She’s going to sleep now.”

  “I don’t care. Get her up!” He stood with his arms folded. “Pack her normal clothes—and make it quick.”

  “Brandon . . . please.” Hen felt the air being sucked out of her. “Don’t do this.”

  “I’m entitled to equal time with my daughter.” He turned, disregarding her plea. Going toward the stairs, he called up. “Mattie Sue, come down here, please.”

  A staccato of small footsteps followed, then Mattie Sue’s happy voice. “Daddy . . . you surprised me!”

  Brandon glanced at Hen with a scowl. “What are you waiting for?”

  “But—”

  “You heard me. Get her things ready.”

  Mattie jumped into his arms. “Did ya bring Wiggles to visit me, too?”

  “No, honey,” he stated matter-of-factly. “Wiggles is waiting for you at our house.”

  Mattie’s eyes locked with Hen’s and she blinked several times in a row. “I don’t want to wear my nightgown outside, Daddy.”

  “That’s all right,” he said, putting her down. “Just put your coat on over the top.”

  Hen assumed Mattie was simply going to run back upstairs and hide, but she darted out the back door instead, running out into the cold, damp night barefooted and wearing only her white cotton nightgown.

  Brandon rushed to the door and looked out, huffing air. Hen hoped he wouldn’t take off running after Mattie Sue. He turned and glared at Hen. “Do you have any idea what you’re doing to our daughter keeping her locked up like this?”

  “You are welcome to spend time with Mattie here whenever you wish,” Hen replied, struggling to keep her tone even. “Mattie Sue loves everything about the farm. She helps my dad and Rose feed the animals, goes exploring in the meadows, and even makes goat cheese. She’s learning to sew and quilt and bake . . . and she enjoys pla
ying with the bishop’s grandchildren.”

  At the mention of the bishop, Brandon winced. “Don’t get me started!” He glanced out into the night again. “Call Mattie back into the house, Hen. Now!”

  Jolted by his harshness, she moved to the door and waited for him to move away. But just as she opened it, her father was standing there, as if a godsend.

  Brandon ran his hands through his hair as though in sheer desperation. He went to the window near the sink and looked out. “Mattie’s going to freeze out there,” he muttered.

  “What’s goin’ on?” Dad asked.

  “I came for my daughter,” Brandon answered, turning away from the window. “But she seems to have run away.”

  “Well, what’s that tell ya, son?”

  Hen was so relieved her father had come, she went to sit at the table, entrusting the seeming nightmare to him. And to God.

  Dad motioned for Brandon to sit at the table and pulled out a chair for himself to join Hen there. “Seems to me there’s something wrong with taking a little girl from her Mamma.” He looked at Hen.

  Though obviously seething, Brandon was suddenly silent.

  Dad studied them both. “So, now that I’ve got ya both in the same room, what can be done to put a stop to this talk of divorce? Ain’t at all pleasin’ to the Lord God, no way and no how.”

  Brandon sighed heavily, leaning back with his hands linked behind his head. He stared at Hen, then turned to Sol. “Do you have any influence over your daughter?”

  “I’m her father.”

  “And I’m her husband, but you can see where that’s gotten me.”

  “Did ya ever think there might be something each of you can surrender? I mean to save your marriage. Something Hen wants that you’re not willing to give her quite yet. And vice versa.”

  Brandon’s expression turned incredulous. “You should’ve been a marriage counselor, Mr. Kauffman.” He paused and glanced at his watch. “Why not practice on Hen instead of me?”