by Susan Rohrer
“Good things?” Charity asked.
Hope could only sigh. “Almost entirely. Your mamm made this kapp, you know. She sewed it up special, for my baptism.”
Charity ran her fingers along the laces of her own kapp. “She made this one, too. Dat gave it to me when I turned eighteen. It’s the last of the kapps she made. I never want to part with it.”
Hope wrapped an arm around Charity. “You’re so much like her, you know? Grace always loved what was meaningful much more than what was new. She had this exquisite stillness about her.”
Charity nodded softly, “Dat says the very same thing. So he does.”
The memory of Grace’s serene face filled Hope’s mind. “Things would happen and she was just...quiet. Purposed. Grounded. Exactly the way you were, delivering that baby.”
Hope took a seat on the bed. “I was the one with the restless streak. I always blame my leaving on her death, or a tiny bit on Joseph rejecting me, but... Maybe there was just something in me that wanted to venture out, see the world, and I found some sort of validation in those other reasons. That’s always been my story, but... Maybe I would have left anyway. I don’t know.”
Soberly, Hope removed the kapp. As she held it in her hands, it dawned on her. She’d finally come to a decision. She was sure. Now, all that was left was to tell Charity, and to hope that somehow she’d understand. “You know, I realized this morning that I’ve gone almost as many years without one of these kapps on as I had with one.”
A knowing expression registered on Charity’s face. “You’ve made a decision.”
“Yeah. I think I just have.” Hope raised her eyes as they began to moisten. “And I’ve got to say, it just about rips my heart in two.” Hope took Charity’s hands in hers. “I love you so much, Charity. You were too young to remember, but from the day you were born, you—it’s like you responded to me, and everything in me responded to you.”
“Like music,” Charity smiled. “Blending. Like when you sing with me. That’s how we are.”
“Yes,” Hope answered. “Like music. See? There you go again. You resonate with everything in me. Nothing manufactured, nothing at all planned, it’s just...who you are. You’re my heart.”
Despite Hope’s efforts to hold back, tears began to fall. “If you knew how many times I’ve cried and I’ve prayed that somehow I could be with all of you again and... Now, here you are, this incredible gift. Still loving me, still wanting me in your life, just as much as I want you.”
“Then, come,” Charity pleaded. “Please come.”
Though the words formed in her mind, Hope could hardly bring herself to speak them. It wouldn’t be right to lead Charity on a moment longer. She loved her too much for that.
“Charity, I wish I could go home with you. I do. But I really have thought about it, and I realize that I... I want a family of my own. There’s still time left for me to have children—which for me pretty much requires a husband—and face it. Amish marry young. The community is so small. I’m into my mid thirties and I’m guessing there’s probably not a single man left even close to my age. Not that I’d consider.”
Charity sat quietly. “No one comes to mind.”
“And it’s not like there’s an influx.”
“Not much.” Charity sighed. “Any chance that Ivan would come?”
Hope set her kapp aside. It wasn’t as though she hadn’t considered it. In many ways, Ivan had found his way into her heart. “Ivan would do anything for me. But I would never ask this of him. I just couldn’t.” She hung her head, knowing she’d never even asked it of herself. “For Ivan to become Amish would mean giving up so much of what he came to this country to find. Freedom to choose where and how to live and work and worship—those are really big things for him. They are for me, too. Just like they were for the Amish when they migrated here.”
Respectfully, Hope set her kapp back into the tissue paper. “I mean, I won’t pretend it’s just his issue,” she said. “The truth is: this is my home now. As much as I ache for all of you—my life, and my chance to have a family of my own, now that I’ve been gone so many years, it’s in the English world.”
Sadly, Charity took Hope’s hand in hers. “Are you sure?”
Hope hesitated. The finality of the decision ached in her chest. “I’m so sorry, Honey. But, yes. I am.”
As Hope started to wrap the tissue over her kapp, Charity gently reached out to stop her.
“Wait.” Wistfully, Charity removed the kapp from her head. She took Hope’s kapp from the tissue paper and placed hers there instead. Finally, Charity situated Hope’s kapp over her bun. “This way,” Charity assured, “you will always be with me.”
Hope wrapped her arms around her niece. “And I will be with you.” How could she ever say goodbye to one so dear as Charity had already become to her? All she knew was that her heart was breaking. And in the balm of their embrace, years of pent up sorrow finally found its way free.
fourteen
Alone in Hope’s apartment, except for her infant son, Leanne didn’t feel so alone anymore. She’d always wondered what in the world young mothers could possibly do to entertain themselves all day. What a surprise it was to find herself completely content to feed the little guy and change his diaper, even just to watch him sleep. She could tell him anything, and it actually kind of seemed like he was listening.
Absently, she chewed at a hangnail. How amazing was it that this wonder of a creature had come from her body? It was also a huge relief that he had been safely born, completely outside of a doctor’s care. She checked the nub where Charity had tied off his navel. Looked like a major outie at this point. It had turned kind of a purplish black, just like Charity had said it would. He was doing just fine, she confirmed, head to toe.
He’d even latched on and taken to nursing, right off the bat. What a freakish feeling that had been at first. Really. It had hurt a little, but she was getting the hang of it. There was something that felt pretty good about being able to give her child what he needed.
He gurgled as she bounced him on her shoulder, lightly patting his back. Next came the little burp she’d learned to encourage.
“There you go. That’s a good boy. You feel better now, don’t you?” She pulled him off her shoulder to get a look. As she spoke, the infant peered intently into her eyes. “Yes, that’s right. That’s a very good boy.”
The baby’s head bobbled a bit, as if in response, still rapt at the sight of her face.
Leanne watched him in fascination. Never, in over eight months of carrying this child, had she expected what came over her in that moment.
He was hers, and she was his.
It would always be that way, no matter what.
She leaned her face over toward his. “Do you know who I am, Little Guy? Do you? Don’t tell nobody, ‘cause it’s a secret, but I’m your Momma. That’s right. That’s who I am.” She took his hand in hers.
With that, the infant wrapped his tiny fingers around hers. Whoa. Already, he was such a strong little dude. She tugged a bit, testing him, and yet he hung on tightly.
Leanne grinned. “Look at you! Look at how strong you are.” Sleepily, his eyes drifted to a close. Already, his little face reminded her of his father. Reggie would never know what he’d missed. She sat, mesmerized, watching the rise and fall of his chest with each passing breath. She pressed her ear to his body. There was the quiet whoosh of his heartbeat. He was a miracle for sure, way beyond her imaginings.
A thought pierced the silence. What had she ever done to deserve a miracle? He was so small, so helpless. He was sleeping so sweetly, completely unaware of what a world class wreck she’d made of her life, much less the mess she stood to make of his, left to her own devices. She rubbed her forehead, defeated.
There was no way she could do this. Not by herself.
Her eyes fell on Hope’s telephone. Once again, the things Hope had said about her mom and dad rang in her ears. As much as she hated like absolute cr
azy-fits to face it, Hope was right. This was her parents’ first grandson. He was part of their family, too.
Just the thought of her mother’s face made Leanne want to pick up the phone. By now, she was making her melt-in-your-mouth gingerbread cookies with sweet white piping and raisins for buttons. They made the whole house smell amazing.
Their home number flashed across her mind. With Christmas so close, thinking of her mom had become pretty much a round–the-clock thing. Her mom loved babies. That was for sure. And it was hard to imagine that she wouldn’t go goo-gobs of gaga over this one, no matter how he’d come to be.
Leanne straightened up, her attention fixed on the phone. She ran over the things that she might say. How would she start? Would she be able to speak at all without bursting into an absolute blubberfest? She inhaled deeply. “Okay, try to do this... Okay.”
Leanne reached for the phone. She picked up the receiver and stared at the buttons for the longest kind of time, unable to do anything more.
Guilt washed over her.
Fear wasn’t far behind.
What would they think of her? What would everyone they knew say? Mouths would sure drop and tongues would waggle once the neighbors found out. That cranky woman who lived across the street would say she’d seen it all coming. This person would call that one. The kids would tease Jay-Jay at his school. A truckload of shame would be dumped on her poor mom and dad. They’d be the ones with the wayward daughter, the one who got herself into trouble with some boy who’d hardly spoken to her since the morning after.
Slowly, Leanne put the receiver back down. She’d gotten herself into this mess, and she would have to get herself out of it.
Hope couldn’t help but smile, seeing Ivan just inside the Troubadour’s entry. There he was, freshly groomed, wearing a suit of all things. Ivan didn’t have much. He hadn’t needed anything in the way of business attire for cooking school, or for his job shining shoes on the street.
As it had happened, this particular suit was what had brought the two of them together, way back in June. Clueless about the finer points of fashion, Ivan had spotted her browsing in the second hand store. He’d asked her opinion about a tie. Back then, he’d been very up front with her about why he was suit shopping. He wanted to look nice when he went to appeal for his U.S. citizenship. Now, clearly, he’d dressed to impress Frank, and had decided that this same suit was the way to do it. In the process, he’d impressed her, too.
Ivan wasn’t a mover or a shaker by any stretch. He wasn’t really known, except to her. But there was something about his heart that had always beat in time with hers, in ways she simply could not deny. What was it about him? In so many respects, they were different. But at the core of who they were, they were the same. They’d both come to the city with the dream of making a new life, of finding a sense of belonging. They’d both found refuge in this place, far from homelands they’d both fled.
As much as she knew that, Hope still wrestled with the pull of her past. He probably did, too. As fiercely as she’d missed those she held so dear, Ivan shared that same struggle. She realized, better than most, what it was like to face that great divide, that chasm that separated them from their people and tore their hearts in two.
Just as she had, Ivan had chosen to pursue a life of independence. It wasn’t that they’d never looked back. It wasn’t that they didn’t love those they’d left behind. But they’d both succumbed to a longing for adventure, a calling outside of their upbringings, a need to at least try to carve out lives of their own.
The difference, for Ivan, was that his dream was coming to an end.
As handsome as he’d looked in that suit and as ardently as he’d pursued getting U.S. citizenship, for some reason it had been repeatedly denied. Each passing day brought him closer to a reality that he hadn’t chosen. Yet, there he stood tall, at the entrance of The Café Troubadour, wanting to spend the last days of his dream washing dishes, if only to be near her.
From the way Frank eyed Ivan at the doorway through the kitchen’s pass-through window, it was pretty clear that Ivan had succeeded in getting his attention. The least she could do was help. Hope dogged Frank’s steps as he grabbed the order that Myrna clipped to the wheel.
Frank glanced at the order. “He’s wearing a suit. Who wears a suit to apply for a dishwasher job?”
Hope shot an encouraging wave toward Ivan. “Look, I’m sure he’s just trying to make a good impression. Come on, Frank. Ease up. Just give him a chance.”
Myrna picked up a steaming plate of scrambled eggs. “Yeah, Frank. Give him a go.”
Frank strode back to the griddle. “I thought he was shipping out.”
Hope followed him. “Not for a couple of weeks, but Charity and Daniel are leaving in two days.” She ladled a crock of chili and sprinkled some cheese on top. “Who knows how long Leanne will be out recouping. Ivan can fill in. Look, he’s a good man. He’s a very hard worker. He’s also a fantastic cook. Did you know that? Come on. What’s your hesitation?”
As soon as she’d said those words to Frank, they echoed within her own heart. Why was she hesitating with Ivan? Why hadn’t she told him anything of what was growing inside her? What was holding her back, now that she’d finally made her decision to stay? It wasn’t lack of affection for him. She knew that of a certainty. She adored Ivan. Just seeing him there still moved her in ways she could hardly explain, even to herself.
It had been different long ago with Joseph Glick. That had only been a girlhood crush. Sure, she’d been devastated at the time, but that had passed within a matter of months. Inside her heart, Hope breathed a prayer. Is this love? As soon as she asked, a question came back to her, seemingly in response.
How will you feel when he leaves?
Immediately, Hope was heartsick to her core. It was hard enough to face that Charity and Daniel would soon be going. She ached to think that Ivan be next, in just a few short weeks, when he would be deported.
Regret whirled around her mind. How could she have been so thoughtless to accuse Ivan of using her to get his green card the way she had? Sure, his proposal had been rushed, but she knew in her heart that it had been far from insincere.
From the very beginning, they’d had a real connection. It had meant so much to her that he’d shared her faith, and that he always sang with such gusto in the choir. He longed to set down roots and start a family, like she did. He was gentle and funny and sweet.
Soon, given the chance, Ivan could graduate from cooking school. He might get a good job as a chef, maybe even there, with Frank. Surely, he’d work hard to provide. He would make a wonderful father. What’s more, she’d never detected the slightest hint of deceit in him, not in all the time that she’d known him. Why had she been so quick to push him away? Why had she made a liar of herself by denying how very much she knew that she loved him, too?
Charity strolled along the sidewalk toward Hope’s apartment, her arm linked with Daniel’s. How wonderful it was to have him so near, and yet, why was her mind so unsettled?
Maybe it was the silence again. He wasn’t to blame for that. As far as they’d walked together, she hadn’t ventured a single word. There had been far too much clamor in her mind.
All her life, she’d adhered to the practices of their predominantly Old Order district without wavering. She’d willingly submitted herself to her earthly father, even when others, like the Beachey family, didn’t see things nearly as conservatively as she did.
She’d never once thought to question Dat’s judgment in the past. But what was this now, weighing so heavily on her? She knew the answer as soon as she asked herself. It was Dat’s ardent resistance to the recent softening of the rules about shunning. It was those new allowances that had been brought about through the efforts of Bethany’s Uncle Caleb. She’d heard Dat talking about it with Opa at great length, sometimes in distressed whispers.
She had to be honest with herself. It hadn’t just been that Dat and Opa had reservations. Sh
e’d shared their reluctance, too, especially when the Beacheys had a long lost brother attend a family wedding last month. Of course, this was before she’d known that Aunt Hope existed. She’d had no idea there’d been a shunning in the Bright family, too, much less that Dat and Opa had opposed this very compromise, even with her Aunt Hope in mind. Had she just taken on their convictions without thinking it through for herself?
Daniel pulled her close. She returned the smile he gave her, but as they walked on, her mind continued to turn. She sifted through what she’d overheard about the shunning decision. Why hadn’t she paid closer attention?
Bits and pieces drifted back. According to Opa, there had been a spirited debate between the two ministers. That she remembered. Their bishop had struck what Opa viewed as a troubling compromise. Under certain conditions, heads of families could now choose if they’d like to reconnect with formerly shunned relatives. Dat had called it a very slippery slope. At the time, she had firmly agreed.
What were those conditions they’d mentioned? She knit her brow, trying to remember. Oh, yes. It was only permitted if the person was of good reputation. That was one. And there was something about... There. That was the other requirement: the person also had to be involved with an English church. This was especially for Mennonites, like Caleb Beachey’s brother had become.
It was the strangest thing. In the past—though Charity had never thought it was her place to voice an opinion about what she’d overheard—she had always stood on her father’s side. Inwardly, she’d sincerely shared his concern as the lines had begun to blur between Old and New Amish Orders under the differing convictions of their leadership.
Now, she wasn’t entirely sure.
Daniel squeezed her hand. “Are you feeling all right?”
Charity looked up into the night sky. There was no easy way to tell him the truth she’d been holding inside. How could she explain it to him when she still didn’t know her own mind? “I’m sorry, Daniel. It’s just... It’s about Aunt Hope. She’s not coming home.”
