A Plain Leaving

by Leslie Gould

  A knock fell on the door as I reached for the first drawer.

  I turned and said, “Come in,” expecting Leisel. But it was Silas.

  He stepped into the room, leaving the door ajar. “Your Mamm’s upset.”

  I nodded, annoyed with him now. I wasn’t obtuse. I turned back toward the desk. “I need to find Dat’s address book.” I opened the top right drawer of the old roll-top and searched quickly, then opened the next drawer down.

  “Jessie,” Silas said.

  I shook my head without turning around, willing him not to call me that again.

  “You need to listen,” he said. When had he grown so patronizing? Perhaps he’d taken lessons from Arden.

  Ignoring him, I opened drawer after drawer. Thankfully he didn’t say anything more. When I didn’t find the address book, I began looking in the cubbies above the desk.

  Silas repeated my name one more time. I ignored him again, remembering after all these years how much I’d loved him—and how much he’d frustrated me too. Here I was, five minutes after my return, feeling both toward him again. And he, more than anyone, should understand my grief. His father died when we were fourteen. I was there for him every step of the way, and so was my Dat.

  I did my best to ignore Silas, and he remained silent. In the last cubby, I found the book tucked in the back. I flipped through the pages. There were hundreds of names. I looked first under A for Amos. Then Bachmann. Nothing. I flipped through, skimming over the entries. There were names and addresses of people throughout the United States—New York, Wisconsin, Montana, California—and in other countries too—Canada, Mexico, Ecuador, Haiti. Even Vietnam. All of the handwriting was his. Confusion filled me. I understood the first four countries. He’d been on humanitarian trips to those places, before I was born. Then, three years ago, after the horrendous earthquake in Haiti, he’d spent two months there. But he’d never been to Vietnam.

  “Jessie . . .”

  “Don’t call me that,” I snapped, meeting Silas’s eyes. I sighed and tried for a kinder tone. “You can leave whenever you want.” I continued to look through the pages, hurt that he belonged at my childhood home when I obviously didn’t.

  Finally, on the next to the last page, I found two numbers without names. One was my cell phone, and I guessed the other was Amos’s. I pulled out my cell and dialed the number as Silas said, “I don’t think that’s a good idea, without talking—”

  I put my hand up, silently begging him to stop, remembering how rigid he was with his rule following.

  The phone clicked. “Hello.”

  “Amos?” I said.

  “Who is this?”

  “Jessica.” I slipped the address book into my purse, noting the disapproving frown Silas had on his face.

  Amos didn’t answer.

  “Your Shveshtah.” Now I was involuntarily speaking Pennsylvania Dutch.

  “My sister?” I could hear him suck in his breath. “What’s happened?”

  “It’s Dat. He’s—” My voice cracked.

  Silas stepped to my side. I turned toward him, catching a glimpse of Marie and Gail staring in the window. I took a step closer toward the desk. Silas moved with me. His closeness was nearly more than I could bear. Dat’s death, mixed with my memory of Silas’s last kiss, caused my chest to feel as if it might explode.

  “Where are you?” Amos asked.

  I managed to answer, “Home. I left a few years ago—but I came back, just now. For the funeral.”

  “I’m coming,” he said immediately. “I’ll be there tomorrow—or as soon as I can.”

  I started to ask where Amos lived—a question I’d asked Dat many times, but he’d never answered—but my Broodah hung up before I got the question out. I stared at the phone in my hand for a long moment.

  “What did he say?” Silas asked.

  “That he’s coming.” As I spoke I was aware someone was standing on the other side of the partially opened door. I suspected it was Mamm.

  Silas let out a low whistle just as the door swung open all the way.

  Arden and his wife Vi stood in the doorway. “Was that Amos?” Arden asked.

  I nodded. There was no reason to try to deceive anyone.

  Arden frowned. He’d gained weight over the last three years, his hair had become thinner, and his beard had grown much longer. Some Amish men trimmed theirs. Obviously, Arden didn’t.

  Vi wagged her finger at me. “Stirring up even more trouble?”

  “No,” I said, nonchalantly tucking the address book deeper into my purse. “Dat would want Amos to know.”

  “Dat was too easy on both of you.” Arden jerked his head toward the kitchen. “Come out,” he said. “You need to be on your way.”

  I stared at Arden. Obviously he’d forgotten how stubborn I could be. I’d leave Dat’s study—but I wouldn’t leave my father’s house.

  I followed him out to the table. Mamm had disappeared and so had Silas’s mother. Leisel was gone too.

  Arden sat at the head, at Dat’s place, and Vi pulled out the chair to his left. He motioned for me to sit at his right, which I did. Then he asked Silas to join us, but he shook his head and stood against the far wall, next to the fireplace. Arden seemed miffed but didn’t say anything more to Silas.

  My brother cleared his throat. “That was a bad idea to call Amos,” he said. “You shouldn’t be here either. You have no idea how hard your and Amos’s betrayal was on Dat.”

  “He didn’t act like it was that hard,” I answered.

  “What are you talking about?”

  “When he came to see me.”

  Arden’s voice rose to a screech. “He didn’t go see you.”

  “He did,” I said. “Several times.”

  Vi leaned toward me, her Kapp ties dangling away from her neck. “Why would you lie to us?”

  I ignored her. “And he must have been in contact with Amos too.” I caught myself from saying anything more. I didn’t want Arden to know I had Dat’s address book. And I wouldn’t tell him Amos would be here the next day either.

  “You need to leave,” Arden told me again.

  Didn’t he know his pronouncements only made me more determined to stay? How dare he try to deprive me of time to mourn my father. Vi leaned back in her chair and crossed her arms. Mamm stepped into view in the kitchen from the pantry. Had she been listening the entire time? She pursed her lips together.

  I stood and walked toward her. “Do you want me to go?” I fought back my tears.

  The back door banged open and Aenti Suz stepped to my mother’s side, followed by Silas’s Mamm. It appeared as if Edith had fetched my aunt.

  “What’s going on?” Aenti Suz asked, standing toe-to-toe with my Mamm.

  “Jessica was just leaving,” Mamm said.

  “Oh, no she’s not.” Aenti Suz started toward me, her signature boots clicking across the hardwood floor. “I’ve been praying you would come. And here you are.”

  Arden was on his feet. “She really is leaving.”

  Silas stepped to my side, an empathetic look on his face. I met his gaze for a quick moment.

  “No, she’s not,” Aenti Suz said again, wrapping me in her arms but looking at Arden. “You were there when Gus asked Leisel to call her,” she said to my brother. “How could you go against your Dat’s wishes?”

  3

  Aenti Suz had always had a way of stumping Arden, and he didn’t appreciate it, not at all. Nor did he appreciate that his lying had just been exposed, I was sure. My aunt just shrugged as Arden and Vi stormed out the back door of the house.

  I glanced at Silas, who now stood with his arms crossed. His expression gave nothing away.

  “Your dresses are still in your closet,” Aenti Suz said. “Tucked away in a garment bag, including the black one. Go put it on—that will make things go a little more smoothly—and then come out and have a cup of tea with me.”

  Mamm frowned but didn’t say anything.

  “All right,
” I answered Aenti Suz, relieved to have someone give me clear directions.

  She hugged me again and then sashayed through the kitchen. She’d always worn her dresses a little long, probably to hide her stylish boots. She’d had jet-black hair, but now it was a beautiful silver. She walked with the same grace and confidence I remembered from throughout my childhood.

  Aenti Suz had never married, which was one of the biggest mysteries of my life. Plenty of widowers tried to court her, but she never seemed to want to marry. I think Mamm would have been happy with Aenti Suz not living in the Dawdi Haus behind our home, but my aunt had lived there since caring for her parents when they were ill, and then she stayed on at Dat’s request. Dat had built the house for his parents, during his first marriage to Arden and Amos’s mother, a woman named Missy. She died when the boys were ten, and Dat married Mamm soon after.

  Without glancing back at Silas, I headed toward the staircase, aware of the neighbors in the living room staring at me. If Mamm or Arden had suggested I put on one of my Plain dresses, I wouldn’t have done it. But Aenti Suz was the least manipulative person I knew, and I trusted her judgment more than anyone else’s, besides my father’s. A new sob threatened to undo me, so I hurried up the stairs, squelching it a little more with each step. Mamm frowned on displays of emotion.

  When I reached the landing, the front door opened and closed. I didn’t dare go back down to see who it was, but then Marie’s voice traveled up the stairs. I felt like a calf trapped in a chute. Maybe they wouldn’t come upstairs.

  I hurried into my old room.

  Leisel sat in the comfortable chair by the window, a book in her hand. It was so like her to escape to a quiet place when things were tense. She closed the book as I greeted her and slipped it between her thigh and the armrest.

  I put my purse on my old bed. Our room was in a newer wing of the house and actually had a closet. The older rooms simply had a row of pegs along one wall for garments.

  “What are you looking for?” she asked.

  “My old dresses.”

  “Why?”

  “I’m going to put one on.” Maybe I could get changed and out to Aenti Suz’s before I had to interact with Marie, Gail, or Mamm again. I found the garment bag in the very back of the closet, unzipped it, and first pulled out my blue dress—the one I’d planned to wear when I married Silas. The black apron I’d made three years ago hung over the hanger too, along with a Kapp. I returned it and pulled out my black dress instead. A Kapp and apron were also attached to it.

  I gave the dress a sniff. It smelled fine—fresh even, like soap with a hint of lavender. All of them did.

  I turned toward Leisel and held up the dress. Her face reddened. “Aenti Suz added them to the wash a couple of days ago, hoping you’d be coming home sometime soon.”

  I exhaled. When I inspected the garment bag, sure enough, a sachet hung on a string on the inside. Aenti Suz grew lavender outside her front door and used it to make soap and sachets. My aunt’s care touched me.

  Leisel had returned to her book. I couldn’t read the title, but it didn’t appear to be a novel. It was large with a hardcover. I quickly changed into the dress, pulled the apron over my head and tied it, and then transferred my cell phone from my purse to my apron pocket. I found bobby pins in a dish on the dresser, quickly secured a bun at the nape of my neck, and then put on the Kapp.

  Next, I hung up my skirt and blouse in the closet, but left my sweater on the bed. The old house was drafty, much colder than I was used to. I opened the top drawer of my old bureau and found a pair of clean stockings. Sitting on the bed, I pulled the first stocking onto my foot just as Marie stepped into the room. Gail was nowhere in sight.

  “You can’t stay in here.” Marie had been furious with me by the time I left, but she seemed even angrier now. “You’ll need to stay in Amos’s old room.”

  “But he’s coming,” I answered. “Where will he stay?”

  Marie harrumphed. “I don’t know, but you can’t stay in here.” She sounded like Mamm.

  “I know,” I said. “I expected as much. But I won’t stay in Amos’s room.” I put on my other stocking and without looking up asked, “Where do you want me to sleep?”

  “How about the Best Western down the road?”

  “Stop it.” Leisel closed the book on her index finger.

  I asked, “How about the extra bedroom down at the end of the hall?”

  Marie crossed her arms. “We’re using that as a sewing room.”

  “Is there still a bed in it?”

  She nodded. “But it’s been ages since the sheets were changed.”

  “I’ll do it,” I said.

  “I already did,” Leisel said, casting her eyes back on her book.

  I smiled at Leisel, even though she didn’t glance up, and then found an old pair of my shoes in the closet. I hoped to help with chores later, and I wasn’t about to wear my dress shoes. Not that they would be deemed appropriate anyway.

  No one said anything as I put on the shapeless shoes.

  When I’d finished, I said, “I’m going to go have a cup of tea with Aenti Suz. I will be staying on the farm until after the service. Then I’ll return to Harrisburg. Marie, if that bothers you, perhaps you could go stay with Gail at her sister’s place.”

  Marie shook her head. “Gail lives here now. Permanently.”

  “All right then,” I said, “let’s do our best to get along. I’ll soon be gone for good.”

  Marie put her hands on her hips. “You can’t come home and boss me around.”

  “I’m not,” I answered, heading toward the door.

  Leisel’s voice was loud and firm. “Things are stressful enough as it is. And you know Dat wanted her to come home, so please stop.”

  “He was delusional,” Marie said. “And what Dat wanted doesn’t really matter, does it? We should care about Mamm now and put her needs first. Not those of our prodigal sister.”

  I didn’t want to hear any more. Once I reached the bottom of the staircase, I headed toward the front door, not wanting anyone to see me. I had a couple of days to mourn my father—and figure out what Arden planned to do with the farm. Hopefully Aenti Suz would have an idea.

  I stepped out onto the front porch to find Gail and Silas huddled in the corner. With all the surprises popping up around every corner, I was beginning to feel like I was back in the haunted house Tom had taken me to last October. He’d been amused by how horrified I’d been, but honestly that had been one of my worst shocks yet.

  Until, perhaps, today. Gail stared at me, her eyes rimmed with red. I thought for a moment about telling her everything was fine—Silas would never take me back after what I’d done, if that’s what she was worried about—but then I decided it was best to say nothing at all.

  Silas simply nodded toward me.

  I didn’t respond to either of them as I hurried by. I couldn’t help but swipe my hand across my backside as I hustled down the stairs. I wasn’t used to wearing dresses much anymore and had a sudden fear that it was tucked up in the back. But all seemed fine.

  I patted my cell phone in the pocket of my apron. Yes, it was there. I’d call Tom as soon as I had a chance.

  I walked next to the fence line as I made my way to the backyard. In the distance, I could make out the pond.

  I thought of my older sister, Rebecca. She’d drowned, and it seemed Mamm always blamed Amos, along with me in some odd way, even though I’d been a newborn. Dat put a fence around the pond after that, but even so he taught Marie, Leisel, and me to swim. Dat bought us shorts and T-shirts for our lessons. Mamm claimed he was teaching us to be immodest, but I paid little attention to her comments. What impressed me the most was that Dat was such a good swimmer. After our lessons, he would swim back and forth across the pond over and over and over while we watched. It seemed as natural to him as walking. Finally Mamm would yell for him to get out of the water and bring us back to the house.

  It seemed the loss of R
ebecca marked Mamm. One time I overheard her tell Dat, as they sat in their rocking chairs on the porch, “You have no idea what it does to a mother to lose her firstborn.” Another time, when she was distraught, I heard her tell him she should have been satisfied with one baby. There were five years between Rebecca and me. Did she think God punished her for wanting more? It didn’t make any sense to me. Accidents happened, tragically. Even if Mamm had been home, she might not have prevented it.

  Rebecca was the sister Marie, Leisel, and I never knew, but still she impacted us every day of our lives. I thought of her when I misbehaved, when I was ungrateful. I was living—something she wasn’t allowed. I owed it to everyone to be as perfect as possible. I knew it was impossible though. I was the least perfect of the sisters, something Mamm made clear. One time, when I hadn’t shared my pudding with Marie, even though she’d already finished hers, Mamm hissed, “Why can’t you be more like your sister?”

  I knew exactly whom she was talking about. Rebecca. Everyone said what a sweet girl she was, an absolute angel. Several times I’d heard people say something along the lines of her being “too good for this earth” and “that God wanted her in heaven.”

  Even though I felt as if I could never live up to Rebecca, ironically she made the three of us living sisters more grateful for each other. She made us closer. She bonded us together in a way nothing else could. Through our childhood, our years as scholars, and the beginning of our Youngie years, we were the best of friends, partly due to the remembrance of our deceased sister.

  Until we weren’t.

  As I turned the back corner of the house, I could see Edith and Aenti Suz across the lawn taking the last of the clothes off the line. Death or not, the household still had to be run. When Aenti Suz saw me she waved and then picked up a basket. Beyond her was the old smokehouse that hadn’t been used since Dat was a boy, the old springhouse, and then Mamm’s large garden plot. Usually by this time of the year, Dat would have plowed it, lovingly. But it wasn’t plowed. The sight sent another jolt of grief through me.