by Marta Perry
The Biblical tradition of choosing the new minister by lot from among those recommended by the people of the congregation meant that everyone accepted the decision with gratitude for God’s guidance. Still, Rachel had to confess that she had not been overjoyed when Ezra’s name had been put forward the last time there had been an opening.
Had the lot fallen on him, their lives would have changed in ways she couldn’t even imagine. A minister had to continue with the work he already had, tend his own family, and still find time to minister to his flock and preach on Sunday.
The lot hadn’t fallen on him, but their lives had changed anyway. It was God’s will, she murmured to herself, hoping that one day she’d think those words and really mean them.
Betty Stoltzfus saw them coming toward the picnic tables. “Wait, wait.” She hurried to drag a padded rocking chair from the porch to the end of one of the long tables. “Sit down and be comfortable.” She patted the chair.
Rachel helped Leah to sit, concerned about how cautiously Leah lowered herself. “Are you having pain?”
“Not much. I’m all right, Rachel. Don’t fuss so.”
Rachel and Betty exchanged glances over Leah’s head—the look of women who’d already had children and knew how uncomfortable the final month could be.
“You sit, too, Rachel, and keep Leah company. I have some lemonade ready to come out.” Betty bustled away toward the kitchen.
Leah glanced at Rachel, looking a little embarrassed. “I’m sorry I snapped. Daniel said coming to worship would be too much, and he was right, but I’m trying to keep things as normal as possible. Anyway, there was something I wanted to speak to you about, and I knew I’d have a chance here.”
“I would come to you, anytime.” Rachel was assailed by guilt. “I’m sorry I didn’t get over this week.” She’d been busy, but that was no excuse to ignore Leah.
“I was fine.” Leah patted her arm. “Mamm has been coming by every day, and folks have brought food. With the children in school, there’s not enough for me to do.”
“Get plenty of rest and enjoy it,” Rachel said promptly. She didn’t have to think twice about that. “Once the baby comes, you’ll be only too busy. But what did you want to talk to me about?”
Something about babies, she’d guess. It was hard for Leah to think of anything else right now.
“It’s Anna.” Leah’s voice dropped on the word, as if she didn’t want anyone to hear the name of her young sister, who’d run off to the English world nearly a year earlier. “I’ve heard from her.”
The smile slid from Rachel’s face. “Oh, Leah.”
Rachel clutched her friend’s hand, not sure whether to be happy or not. She knew how much suffering accompanied the loss of a beloved sibling. And as the elder, Leah had felt guilty, too, as if she somehow could have prevented it. “How is she? Is she all right?”
Leah nodded, tears sparkling. “She seems to be, though whether things are as rosy as she pretends, I don’t know.”
“Where is she? Did she tell you?”
“She didn’t say, but the envelope was postmarked a town in Illinois.” Leah sighed a little. “I don’t know why she feels she has to hide. She knows we accepted her decision.”
“Maybe she’s not so sure of it herself.”
Leah swallowed, probably because of the tears that clogged her throat. “She’s not with that boy anymore. I never thought that would last. But she has a job and a room to live in. She says she’s gotten her GED, and she’s even planning to take some college courses in the fall.” She sighed. “It seems wrong to be hoping that she’d find things difficult out there.”
Out there among the English. Rachel knew what Leah was feeling, because she’d been there herself—almost longing for Johnny to fail, if that was what it took to bring him back to them.
“I’m sorry,” she said softly.
“I know.” Leah squeezed her hand. “It’s funny. It almost seems as if Anna and I have traded places. Imagine our Anna actually wanting more learning.”
“Maybe she’s grown up some since she’s been away.”
“That was what I always wished for. I just never thought it would come this way.” Leah sighed. “Anyway, I wanted you to know about it, because you understand.”
“Ja, I do. I know what it is to feel helpless to make things better. But at least you’ve heard from her. You know she’s well and taking care of herself. That’s better than wondering. Imagining.”
“My imagination is too gut, that’s for sure. But I trust that God is watching over her, and now I can picture her life.”
Rachel’s throat tightened, remembering all the times she’d struggled to picture what Johnny was doing, how he was, during those years when they hadn’t been in touch.
Leah must have known what she was thinking, because she touched her hand lightly. “Enough worry about things we can’t affect. Tell me how it went for you at market yesterday.”
“Ach, better than I ever imagined.” She couldn’t stop the smile that bloomed on her face. “Leah, I made more money in a day than I’ve ever made before in my life. It felt so gut to be earning for my children.”
“That’s wonderful-gut news. I’m happy for you.”
Rachel glanced toward where the children played, but instead of their running forms, she was seeing rows of flowers and shrubs, blooming in her garden.
“If I can just get seedlings started in the greenhouse, I’ll have plenty of plants to take to market every week. And I was thinking that I would put in more perennials and even some small shrubs and trees. I could have a regular nursery business if I work at it.”
She turned to Leah. But instead of the enthusiasm she expected, there was a look of caution on Leah’s face.
“Are you sure that’s a gut idea? I mean, won’t it be a lot of work?”
“For sure, it will be work. But if I can make enough to provide for the young ones without selling the farm, that will be worth any amount of labor.”
“It will take so much of your time. And then there’s the book-keeping you’d have to do if you actually started a business. And the taxes, and ...”
“You think I can’t do it.” A chill settled around Rachel’s heart. Leah was her best friend, the person who knew her better than anyone, and Leah thought she wasn’t capable of this project.
“It’s not that,” Leah said, but her voice betrayed the truth. “I just feel you ought to think on it more. Talk to your parents.”
“I know what they think without talking to them. They think I should sell the farm and move in with them.”
Leah leaned forward, putting her hand over Rachel’s. “I don’t want to discourage you. I just think you have to be careful, that’s all. You understand, don’t you?”
“Ja. I understand.” She tried to keep the flatness she felt out of her voice. She’d thought she’d known what to expect from her friend. It seemed she was mistaken.
“Rachel ...”
“Ach, there’s Becky, halfway up the apple tree.” She didn’t know when she’d been so glad to see her daughter getting into mischief. “I’d best go and see to her.” She hurried off before she could let Leah see how disappointed she was.
“Becky is all right, ja?”
Mary Yoder, their schoolteacher, watched as Becky scurried off to her grossdaadi once Rachel had gotten her down from the tree. She’d approached while Rachel was still looking up at her errant daughter. Maybe it was the presence of her teacher that had cut short Becky’s complaints.
“She’s fine, though I sometimes wonder why.” Rachel made an effort not to let her frustration show in her voice as she smiled at the young woman. “She’s far too daring, that’s what she is. Takes after her daadi in that.”
Mary nodded, but she didn’t smile in return, and that set off all Rachel’s maternal alarms.
“Mary? Is there some problem with Becky in school?”
“She’s a fine scholar,” Mary said, almost too quickly. “I’ve j
ust been thinking—well, perhaps I could come by the house sometime this week to talk. Would that be all right?”
Rachel opened her mouth to ask the questions that flooded her mind and then shut it again. Obviously Mary didn’t want to talk about school issues at the after-church meal.
She took a breath and tried to erase the worry from her face. “I’ll be happy to have a chance to talk. Stop by any afternoon, whenever it suits you.”
Teacher Mary moved off toward the picnic table, leaving Rachel with more questions than answers. It wasn’t unusual for the teacher to come calling, but it hadn’t happened before with Becky.
Am I making mistakes with the children, Father? I want so much to do that right. Please, guide me and grant me patience and humility.
“And how was your day at market, Rachel? You didn’t find it too tiring?”
Isaac had come up behind her, and she was uneasily aware that he might have overheard her conversation with Mary. Still, what difference did it make if he had? Isaac was family.
“It was a long day, but very gut.” The enthusiasm she’d felt when she talked about market with Leah had disappeared, and she tried to regain it. “Everything I took with me sold, so I’m thankful for that.”
“Gut, gut.” But Isaac didn’t sound convinced, and his gaze avoided hers.
Her heart sank. Isaac no doubt intended to say something she didn’t want to hear—probably more about selling him the farm. She’d hoped he’d respect her request for time to consider.
“About this business of going to market. Do you really think that’s appropriate, with you widowed not even a year already?”
For a moment she couldn’t answer. Widowed not even a year. The words sank into her heart. Soon it would be a year since the morning Ezra had driven off in Gideon’s buggy. Would things be better once that terrible landmark passed? She didn’t know.
But Isaac was still waiting for an answer.
She cleared her throat, so that she could reply gently, quietly, as was the Amish way. “I don’t think anyone could complain about my behavior in trying to support my children as best I can.”
“Not that, for sure, but in such a public place, among all them English.”
“I was well-chaperoned by Aaron and Lovina, if that’s what you’re thinking.” She reminded herself that Isaac meant well.
“They’re gut folks, but they’re not family. You should be relying on family just now.”
“Isaac, I do. You should know how much I rely on you and the rest of the family.” Was he thinking that it was a slight to him that she turned to others? “The children and I couldn’t get along without your help, that’s certain sure. You know how much we appreciate all that you do, don’t you?”
“Ach, there’s no need for thanks.” He patted her hand. “Now, I won’t talk business on the Sabbath, but I want to be sure you’re thinking about my offer.”
There it was, just the subject she didn’t want to discuss. “You’re right, Isaac. We shouldn’t talk business on the Sabbath.”
He looked a little disconcerted at having his words turned back to him that way. “I see your mamm and daad coming to collect you for the meal, so I won’t say more. Just ... don’t let this business with your little greenhouse affect your decision.”
Sure enough, her mother and father approached, Mary awake but clinging to her grossdaadi’s hand. If Rachel asked them, they’d no doubt agree with Isaac and take the opportunity to urge her to move back home with them.
No one, it seemed, thought her plan at all reasonable. Well, except maybe Gideon, and Gideon was convinced, no matter what he said to the contrary, that she should do what Ezra would want.
Guide me, Lord. Her heart whispered the prayer as Mary rushed to grab her skirt. Ineed to know what is right to do.
It had been two days since that Sabbath meal, but Rachel still struggled with the opinions that had buffeted her. Most of all, she hadn’t been able to reconcile herself to Leah’s negative reaction.
Was Leah’s approval really that important to her? Apparently so.
She’d been trying not to think about it, but this quiet moment at the end of the day, cleaning up the kitchen as she glanced through the window over the sink at the slow settling of dusk on the farm, seemed to let the concern slip back in.
She’d turned that conversation every which way in her mind. She’d told herself that Leah had just been tired, or was feeling overly cautious because of her pregnancy
But the end result was the same. Leah didn’t support her plan. She didn’t think Rachel was capable of doing it.
Rachel hung the dish cloth on the drying rack and then grasped the edge of the sink with both hands, bowing her head in the stillness. She could hear the children’s voices, coming softly from upstairs as Becky helped Mary get ready for bed. Otherwise, the farmhouse was quiet with the end-of-day serenity
Dear Father, I confess that I have been annoyed with Sister Leah over her lack of support for my plans. Please, Lord, if she is right about this, help me to see that clearly. And if she is wrong, if this is the right step for me and the children, please help me to rid myself of these feelings.
She seemed to be praying the same prayer over and over these days, first for her feelings toward Gideon, now for those she harbored toward Leah. The advice Bishop Mose had given her was harder to follow than she’d thought it would be.
The soft voices from upstairs were suddenly no longer so quiet. She straightened, appalled to hear Becky practically shouting at her little sister. Hurrying toward the stairs, she tried to quell the frustration that rose in her.
Ezra used to joke that this was the time of day when even gut children turned into little monsters. How she missed his steady hand with them!
She reached the door of the bedroom Becky and Mary shared to find Mary sitting on her bed in her white nightgown, tears running down her cheeks. Becky stood in the center of the hooked rug between the beds, her hands clenched and her face red.
Joseph, who’d probably been drawn by the noise, slipped past Rachel and out of the room, obviously having no desire to get into this, whatever it was.
“Hush, Mary, hush.” First things first. Rachel sat down on the bed and drew the little one into her arms. “Quietly, now. It’s all right. Mammi is here.”
Mary clung to her, burying her face in Rachel’s shoulder, her sobs lessening already. Rachel stroked her, murmuring softly, until they calmed into little hiccupping sounds.
“Now, then.” She kept her voice low as she focused on Becky. “Tell me what has Mary so upset. And you also, I think.”
For a moment Becky didn’t speak. Her fists were clenched tightly against her apron, and strong emotion twisted her lips.
“She doesn’t remember!” The words exploded from her. “Mary says she doesn’t remember what Daadi looks like!”
That brought a fresh outburst of tears from Mary. Rachel held her close, murmuring to her, patting her back. Poor Mary, who probably didn’t even understand what was happening, only that Becky was angry with her.
And poor Becky, too. Rachel understood what Becky felt, because her own heart was sore at just hearing the words.
Could Mary have forgotten Ezra so soon? If so, it was her fault. She should have talked about him more, made sure his image was fresh in the children’s minds. Without photographs, words and memories were all they had.
“Hush, little girl.” As Mary’s sobs lessened again, she tilted the small face up so that she could see it. It was blotched red with tears, and just the look of it wrenched her heart. “It’s all right. You remember Daadi. You remember how he used to lift you high in the air, so high that you touched the ceiling, and you loved it. You’d say, ‘Again, again!’ to him.”
Mary nodded, wiping the tears away with the back of her hand.
She must tell the child more, say the words that would bring Ezra clearly back into her memories. But panic swept through her like a cold wind. Ezra’s image, his dear face, the sound
of his laugh, the look in his eyes—they were fading, all fading.
Rachel was terrified at the thought of losing him, but even more terrified at letting the children know how she felt.
Please, help me, dear Father.
“His beard tickled you and made you laugh.” Somehow the words came, as if the Lord had heard. “And his eyes were so blue—just as blue as yours are. He was strong, so strong he could lift all three of you children up at the same time. Remember? Remember how he’d make a Mary sandwich, with you in the middle?”
“I remember.” Mary smiled at that, the tears banished. “I remember Daadi.”
“Of course you do.” She put Mary down on the bed, pulling her quilt up and tucking it around her. “You remember, and if you start to forget, we’ll all help you remember.”
She glanced at Becky. “Come and kiss your baby sister, and tell her how sorry you are that you made her cry.”
Becky, looking on the verge of tears herself, crawled up on the bed and wrapped her arms around Mary, kissing her cheek. “I’m sorry,” she whispered. “I love you.”
Mary clutched her in a throttling embrace. “I love you, Becky.”
“Now is time for sleep.” Rachel kissed Mary, holding her close for a moment. “Good night, my little one.”
Mary snuggled down under the quilt, turning her face to the side as she always did for sleep. Rachel slid off the bed and put one hand on Becky’s shoulder to shepherd her out of the room. She pulled the door to, leaving it a few inches ajar as she always did, so that she could hear if one of them cried in the night.
“Komm,” she said to Becky. “Sit down here on the steps and let’s talk.”
She sat on the top step, trying to push away the weariness and the tears that would come too easily if she let them. Becky sat down next to her, her face downcast, the nape of her neck so exposed and vulnerable-looking that Rachel’s heart twisted again.
“Mary is still a boppli in some ways, ja?” She put her arm around Becky. “She was only two when Daadi went to Heaven. She doesn’t have as many memories as you do of Daadi, because she didn’t get to be with him as long.”
