by Susan Rohrer
Affection crossed Charity’s face as she rounded the bed to the other side. “Dat never changes.”
“Never did, never will.”
Charity drew back the quilt on her side. “This is so pretty. Is it one of yours, too?”
“It is,” Hope replied. “I saved it for years, but... Well, I guess I never...” Weddings that had never materialized drifted through Hope’s mind. Jonathan had long since married, cheated, and been divorced by someone else. Leo was... Something soured in her stomach. It felt like protection that things hadn’t worked out so well with Leo. James had been another story. James, she had loved. She’d spent years getting over him. Then, there was Ivan. What to do about Ivan... Hope turned down her side of the quilt. “Anyway, maybe one day.”
Charity crawled into bed. “You should see Aaron and Isaac. They’re taller than I am.”
Hope tried to imagine it. Unless the boys strongly favored their parents, she knew she’d never recognize them now. “Out here, we’d show pictures. Photos.”
“I’ve seen a lot of photographs in town,” Charity said. “But they’re flat...and so still, doncha know?”
Hope considered it thoughtfully.
“All the pictures I have in my mind, they’re alive,” Charity added. “They move. I like that.”
Hope nodded, remembering. “Yeah. I did, too.” Her mind wandered back to those she missed so much. “And my father? How is he?”
“Opa? He’s well. He lives with us, now, since... Did you know that Oma passed?”
Something caught in Hope’s throat. She could only bring herself to nod. Leaving her mother had been the most excruciating parting of all. Years ago, to hear of her death had been nothing less than shattering.
A familiar pang cut through her. In very real ways, she was still mourning. Old questions resurfaced. Had she made the right decision not to try and attend that service? Should she have come to English world at all? She could hardly bring herself to look at Charity. “It was the one time your father wrote to me. Short. And it was all in Pennsylvania German, of course, but... What can I say?”
Charity situated her pillow. “Seven summers ago, now. I really miss her.”
How soothing, Hope thought. Finally, there was someone there who shared a sense of her grief. “I’ve missed her, too, Charity. More than I can say.”
Charity turned. “Aunt Hope, I’m sorry. If it’s too painful—”
Hope brushed Charity’s shoulder fondly. “No, Sweetie. It’s a good hurt.”
Hope relaxed onto her side of the bed. “I have these pictures in my mind, too. She was—present company excepted—she was the very hardest to leave.”
A moment of silence passed between them. Did she dare ask? Hope gathered her courage. “My mother...did she ever speak of me?”
The empathy that came over Charity’s face was telling.
“You don’t have to answer that, Charity. I shouldn’t have asked you.” Still, she could see the regret lingering in Charity’s eyes. “It’s okay. Mamm, your Oma...she was so good. So devout. Of course, she wouldn’t have said anything. She couldn’t even say my name.”
“It was Dat who told me about you,” Charity whispered. “Just days ago, because I found your Christmas card. By accident. He hadn’t opened it.”
“He never does.”
“I didn’t either. We just used the address to find your place. I was surprised, really. It’s not like Dat to leave things in his pockets on washday. He knows I empty them before I do the clothes.”
“No. It’s not like him. At least it wasn’t years ago.” Hope mulled it over, knowing her brother. Did this represent a softening of his resolve? “And who was it that decided you could come?”
Charity snugged the quilt around her neck. “Dat. On two conditions: that I’d come with Daniel, and that I’d be home before Christmas.”
Hope knew her brother, well enough to guess that there was more than Charity’s visit at play. Like Noah in the ark, Nathan had sent a gentle dove out to test the waters. He was, no doubt, praying for her return. He was also hoping to gain Daniel as a son-in-law in the bargain.
“Is it true what Dat says?” Charity asked. “Am I really like my mamm so much? I mean beyond the physical resemblance.”
There were few people Hope thought of more highly than Charity’s mother, Grace. A fond smile came to her lips. “Your mamm...” Where to begin? “Well, everyone needs a Bethany. And your mamm, she was mine. Always full of surprises and still somehow so...grounded. You know?”
“Ja. Dat always said she was steady as an oak in a windstorm.”
“That she was.”
“He planted one in our yard the year she passed. It’s grown tall, now.”
Hope studied Charity’s face. “It’s not that you look exactly like she did. There is a very strong resemblance, though. You remind me a bit of Nathan, too. But mostly, it’s Grace’s light there in your eyes. Even when you were a little thing I could see that.”
“We still set a place for her at Christmas every year.”
The thought touched Hope. “Really?”
Charity propped herself up on her elbow. “We make her best dishes, sing her favorite hymns. Oma taught me all of their recipes before she died. So, we set a place, and we talk about how much we miss her, and how blessed we were to have her. At least I do. Dat most of all. Aaron and Isaac never knew her, so they...well, they’re seventeen, and—”
Hope understood. “Not so much on Memory Lane?”
Charity looked puzzled. “Memory Lane?
“Just an English expression,” Hope explained. “It’s like you go walking down those old paths and, just in your head, you go there.”
“Oh,” Charity replied. “Do you go there?”
Hope savored the question. How rare it was to have someone to ask about such things. “I do go there, Charity. All the time. It’s part of my work.”
“At the Café Troubadour?”
“That’s where it started, at the café. It’s where my agent first heard me sing.” Hope hesitated. Performing wasn’t something the Amish did, but it was a part of who she’d become. “So, then he signed me, started sending me out for stuff. I booked here and there—jingles, voice-overs, small plays once in a while. It’s strange. I never trained. It started out as kind of a lark, really. Next thing I knew, it was a full-blown passion. Now, waiting tables, that’s just the work I do so I can survive. The paying the bills part. But when I’m on stage, where I’m working on getting more work, that’s when I really live.”
Charity’s eyes widened. “You get up in front of people on stage here?”
“It’s a long way from back on the farm, but yeah,” Hope admitted. “Maybe there’s something pathological about it—I’m sure there is—but...I do. This therapist said I sort of have this need to, I don’t know...to be seen or acknowledged. She said it all goes back to the shunning. Maybe she’s right.”
Hope pondered it for a moment. “When I’m there on stage, that’s when I go down Memory Lane. Underneath whatever or wherever it is, I’m saying, there’s this other life there. My life back there with all of you. So, the stage...that’s one place where I’m completely free. I can go back home.”
For a little while, they rested there silently. Her words hung in the air.
“Do you ever think about giving that up, about really coming back?” Charity asked.
“All the time, Charity. All the time.” Hope reached over and flicked off the lamp. As early as they would need to rise, it was past time to call it a night. Still, long after Charity closed her eyes in slumber, Hope lay awake. Her mind simply refused to rest.
She had not left the fold in rebellion. That she knew. There was no family tension that had driven her away. It was nothing like that at all. It was her sense of principle that had separated them. That principle could come to part them again in just a few weeks’ time. If she refused to compromise, once more, it would leave her in the bitter throes of grief. It would tear a
t her soul, leaving her ravaged all over again.
seven
Though the sun had yet to peek over the horizon, Charity busied herself preparing a hot breakfast. Daniel was awake, too. He’d already folded up his linens and put all the cushions back in place on the couch. The aroma of hotcakes and scrambled eggs would gently coax the others out of their warm beds.
Indeed, it wasn’t very long before Hope and Leanne joined them around the table she’d set. As soon as they were all seated, Daniel wordlessly bowed his head. Noticing him, Leanne bugged her eyes awkwardly, but Hope gave her an encouraging nod, and then bowed her head as well.
Charity hid her amusement. She closed her eyes and silently said the Lord’s Prayer, just as she knew Daniel would. How thankful she felt to be there with him at her Aunt Hope’s table. Soon, she heard Daniel, and then Aunt Hope, let out a breath. There. They were finished, too.
Charity raised her eyes and smiled softly at Daniel. It was gratifying to see him lead the way in blessing what she’d prepared.
Leanne glanced around the table, a baffled look on her face. “What? Is that it?”
Aunt Hope reached for the bowl of eggs. “That’s it.” She passed the eggs to Leanne. “Doesn’t this look great? I’m trying to remember the last time I actually ate a hot breakfast.”
Charity unfolded her napkin and set it on her lap. “Dat always said he thought it was the best meal of the day.”
Leanne passed the eggs to Daniel with a queasy expression. “Yeah, well something tells me your Dat never had a case of morning sickness.”
Charity blushed. Talk of pregnancy in mixed company would take a bit of getting used to yet, especially in front of Daniel. She handed a platter of hotcakes to Leanne. “I’ve heard that starting with a dry bread like this can help with that, to settle your stomach.”
Hope took a sip of hot coffee. “And when you have to be at work by sunrise...speaking of which, Leanne, I take it you’re going in?”
Leanne pouted. “Didn’t get up in the dark for nothin’.”
Hope set her mug down. “Hate to break it to you, but the dishwasher’s fried.”
Leanne slumped. “Not again. You know I can’t hardly keep up by hand.”
Charity passed the hash browns to Leanne. “We’ll come help.”
“Sure, we will,” Daniel echoed.
“No thanks,” Leanne groused, handing off the potatoes to Hope. “Like I need to lose the only job I ever had on account of you two showin’ me up.” Abruptly, Leanne rose from the table.
Hope quickly caught Leanne’s arm. “Leanne, they didn’t mean—”
Shaking free, Leanne quickly left the kitchen. “I gotta go.”
Charity flushed. She had only meant well, but obviously she’d upset Leanne. She watched, mortified, as Leanne grabbed her coat and left the apartment. Charity turned to Aunt Hope as she began to rise. “I’m so sorry. Should I try to—”
Hope reached out and took her hand. That alone was comforting. “You did nothing wrong, Charity. Don’t apologize. Just sit. She’s kind of hormonal, and more than a little bit threatened. Confused. Ferhuddled, as the Amish would say. Try not to worry. It’ll pass.”
Charity eased back into her chair. Surely, Aunt Hope was right. People were the way they were for reasons. Yes, Leanne had her reasons, her private fears and pains. She tried to imagine what it would feel like to be in Leanne’s predicament...pregnant and alone in the big city, with no family, and no place to call home. No wonder the girl was on edge.
“I just wish I could afford to take the day off to spend with you two,” Hope said, “but I’m barely making rent, much less groceries.”
Daniel downed his hotcakes hungrily. “Maybe I could pick up some work while we’re here. Help out.”
“Nothing doing,” Hope answered. “This is your Rumspringa. It’s supposed to be fun. Run around. Check out the sights. See what the world is like.”
Daniel knit his brow pleasantly. “Looks like to me that people have to work in the world. I wouldn’t feel right not earning my keep.”
Charity smiled. How much Daniel reminded her of her father—so hard working, even at a time like this. There was much to be admired about Daniel’s character. That was for certain. But as he talked with Aunt Hope, she also couldn’t help but take in his other qualities. Those warm brown eyes of his were so engaging. There was also his strong, clean-shaven jaw, and the pleasant tone of his voice. How had she resisted him so long?
Hope guzzled the rest of her orange juice and rose from the table. “Well...wish I could say I don’t need help, but the truth is, it wouldn’t hurt about now. Although...” She grabbed a dog-eared booklet off her shelf and handed it to Daniel. “If you really want to help out while you’re here, you might want to look this over.”
Daniel read the booklet’s cover. “G.E.D. study guide?”
“Ivan left it. It’s a test, to get your high school equivalency.” Hope rose from the table. “Ivan needed his so he could get into cooking school. He’s just been shining shoes to pay his way through. Not that he’ll be able to finish here now, but the equivalency really opened up his options. First thing I did when I got here was to go for my G.E.D. No way to get decent paying work without it.”
Hope reached to clear her dishes, but Charity put out a hand. “I’ll take care of that.”
Daniel set the G.E.D. booklet aside. “I’m an experienced carpenter. I’ll find something.”
As Hope left the kitchen, Charity exchanged an understanding glance with Daniel. She examined the G.E.D booklet.
Hope called out from her room. “I totally get it that you don’t need an equivalency back at home. And it’s silly because you sound like you’re probably smarter than most of the high school graduates out here. Crazy, I know, but having that piece of paper does make a difference when you apply.”
Charity monitored Daniel’s reaction. Why had this topic even come up? Sure, the English favored much more formal education than Amish youth were required to complete. But would Daniel feel any less worthy of respect than he was, just because he didn’t have their stamp of approval?
Daniel leaned toward Charity, lowering his voice. “She seems to think we’re staying longer than we are.”
Charity put the booklet down. “Last night, you told her we’d leave in three weeks. Christmas Eve. Maybe it’s just about paying the bills till then.”
Daniel referred to the booklet. “But this...I’ve heard about it. It’s far beyond eighth grade material. I’d have to study on it a good while. By the time I’d be ready to take the test, it’d be time to leave.”
“Don’t worry with it, Daniel. You’ve already learned so much in your carpentry trade. This isn’t about that.”
“Ja, well...” Daniel downed the last of his eggs.
“I guess it’s natural that she’d want us to stay. Of course she does. Just like we want her to come home. But maybe if we try to be open to her suggestions, later on she’ll be open to ours.”
The sound of approaching footsteps quieted her. Aunt Hope was returning.
Aunt Hope leaned over to kiss her cheek. “Come by for lunch, okay? It’ll be on me.”
Charity searched her aunt’s face. “Are you sure Leanne will be comfortable with us being there?”
“She’ll have to be,” Hope assured “We’re family.”
Strolling along with Daniel, Charity scanned the streets of Manhattan. Holiday decorations sparkled in the sunlight, reminding shoppers that Christmas was coming.
A Salvation Army bell ringer stood by a shiny red bucket with a slit in the top. Just like the ones Charity had seen in town, the man rang his little bell continuously, soliciting for contributions. Electric signs flashed. Horns blared. In contrast to the placid, rolling hills of home, the downtown sights and sounds were still a little overwhelming. It made her thankful to have Daniel there at her side.
Suddenly, he took her hand.
It was almost as if he’d sensed how oddly disconnected s
he felt. Maybe he’d been feeling the same way. She drank in the sensation of his grasp for the very first time. His hand was so reassuring, so comfortable in hers.
At home, he would never have been so bold, at least not in public. But far from home and the watchful eyes of those who lived there, Daniel Yoder was holding her hand. In that place where she felt so very different from everyone else, it gave her a sense of belonging.
Pedestrian traffic there certainly had a brisk flow, like in town when they went to market, only much more so. Deliberately, Charity matched Daniel’s leisurely pace. He was not afraid to be different. A lesser man might try to either blend or keep up, but not Daniel.
A wide variety of people populated this city, all the way from smartly dressed business types to the wandering homeless, to the darkly foreboding, to those she could only describe as fashionably unique. There was hair in shocking candy colors on a few. Tattoos were everywhere. Despite the diversity, with her bonnet and cape, and Daniel’s Amish hat, there was no escaping how much they stood out in the crowd. They were in this world, but nothing at all felt like they were anywhere near of it.
Almost out of nowhere, a street vendor stepped in front of Daniel. He thrust a gleaming woman’s watch into Daniel’s free hand. “Got some sweet designer time-pieces here. This one here would look mighty fine on your woman’s wrist this Christmas.”
“No, thank you.” Daniel extended the watch back toward the vendor. “We don’t wear—”
All at once, Charity heard a familiar sound: the clip-clopping of hooves on pavement. “Oh. Look, Daniel. A horse.”
The vendor whipped around. A mounted police officer was approaching. “Time to beat the heat, if you know what I mean.” In a flash, the vendor wrapped up his wares and bolted, leaving Daniel standing there with the watch.
Daniel called after him. “Wait! Your watch.”
Ignoring him, the vendor quickly dashed into the crowd and disappeared around the nearest corner.
Charity traded a perplexed look with Daniel. She gestured toward the watch. “What should we do with that?”
