“I’m sorry you and Grace had to go through that.”
“Miriam, it was Gotte’s wille.”
She was silent for a moment, clutching the quilt more tightly. Finally, her voice no more than a whisper, she asked, “Do you believe that?”
“I do, though I’ll admit I struggled against it for a long time. Each person’s life is written, our number of days are known to Gotte—”
“I know the Scripture.”
“And I would have chosen that Hope’s years reached far into her nineties, that she became a grossmammi with gray hair and wrinkled skin.” He pushed the swing with his foot. “But my ways aren’t Gotte’s ways.”
“And now you have me.”
“I have you and I have Rachel. Maybe we will have more children and maybe we won’t.” His plans for the night certainly weren’t panning out, but he didn’t think now was a good time to bring the matter to her attention.
Miriam sighed. “I understand what you’re saying. I do, but this is my mamm, and I love her. I don’t want her to hurt, and I don’t want her to go. I’m not ready.”
“We’re never ready, lieb, and perhaps now isn’t her time. Don’t be rushing Abigail off. If there’s one thing I’ve learned about her, it’s that she’s a strong woman.”
The night grew quiet around them, the single sound the squeaking of the swing.
“You may have a cookie now.”
“Oh, I may?”
“One. No, two.”
Gabe laughed as he removed the dish towel and reached for two of the peanut butter cookies. He handed one to Miriam.
“There’s a little milk left,” he said.
“I love milk and peanut butter.”
“Then I’ll share.”
The evening took on a pleasant, peaceful rhythm. It wasn’t a silent night, but the sounds he heard were ones familiar to him, ones that brought peace to any troubled spaces in his heart. The talk of Hope hadn’t bothered him.
What it had done was remind him again of those years alone with Grace. He would have survived them if that had been his future.
But this? It was better. Life with Miriam in his arms, Grace growing strong, and Rachel in her crib was gut. It was a future rich and bright. If it meant that he had more to risk losing, then so be it. He could trust all he had to a wise and loving Gotte. Already he had been more blessed than any man had a right to be.
How could he explain those things to Miriam?
Or were those truths that each man and each woman had to learn for themselves?
He didn’t realize immediately that Miriam had fallen asleep. He nudged her gently, but there was no response. Before she could wake enough to argue that he was too old for such foolishness and would surely throw out his back, he picked her up in his arms and carried her to bed.
Chapter 22
Sunday morning Miriam sat on the hard wooden bench, Grace to her right side, Rachel in her lap, and her mamm on her left. She wished she could stop the tears streaming down her cheeks. It wasn’t that she minded crying during church services. She understood that worshipping Gotte meant laying aside all pretense and coming before Him honestly—baring her fears and her worries.
But this ache in her heart, it hurt like a physical pain.
After talking to Gabe the night before, she had managed to bury her worries. This morning she’d managed to put on her Sunday clothes and act normal as they all prepared for church, same as she’d acted normal all week, every day since the visit to Doc Hanson’s. She’d kept herself busy and pushed away all the things that might be wrong with her mother.
But now as she sat worshipping, all those words the doctor had said came crashing back into her mind, pushing pressure against her heart—eleven pounds lost, possibly cancer, diabetes, hyperthyroidism, Hodgkin’s, Parkinson’s, or Addison’s disease.
One look at her mother this morning had stirred her fears to life. Seeing the way her father was with her, how he’d helped her carefully out of the buggy as if he were protecting the most precious thing in his life—and perhaps he was.
As they turned to go into Esther and Joseph’s home, Miriam saw that Abigail seemed to have lost even more weight since Tuesday. Was that even possible?
Miriam had rushed forward and tried to talk to her about it, but her mamm had only patted her arm. She hadn’t said a word to her! Instead she’d stooped to ask Grace how school had been.
As soon as the singing had started, Miriam’s tears began to fall. Music always had that effect on her during worship. While the spoken word touched her mind, the voices raised together in worship never failed to tap her heart.
Grace moved closer within the circle of her arm.
Abigail passed her a handkerchief, though she had one in her own pocket.
As they began to sing the last verse of the Loblied song, the Praise Song, Miriam wanted to run from the morning service, or at least scamper to the other side of the room and into Gabe’s arms. Could she praise God even as her mother stood beside her weak, frail, and hurting?
Thine only be the Glory, Lord,
Likewise all might and power.
Praise thee in our assembly, and
Feel grateful every hour.
How was she to feel grateful every hour? Would God’s might and power heal her mother?
She didn’t understand.
Why hadn’t Doc Hanson called? Why hadn’t God intervened? Her mother was wasting away before her eyes, and there didn’t seem to be anything she could do about it.
Was this Gotte’s wille? Miriam had heard the phrase all her life. Until this very moment, she had thought she understood it, but now her heart was breaking and she realized she didn’t understand anything.
The song ended and they all sat.
Grace twined their fingers together, sitting as close as she could. Miriam wanted to assure her that everything would be all right, but would it? The child had lost one woman in her life. Was it fair that she lose another so soon?
She resettled Rachel on her lap. The baby slept on, blissfully unaware of the worries plaguing her mamm.
But Miriam’s questions piled up as the sermon began. She tried to focus, but the preaching seemed like words, just words—empty, hollow, meaningless. Soon they were reading Matthew’s admonition to pray sincerely. “When you pray, do not be like the hypocrites.”
Was that what she’d become? A hypocrite? Miriam felt like a fraud for doubting, for questioning God. “But when you pray, go into your room, close the door and pray to your Father, who is unseen. Then your Father, who sees what is done in secret, will reward you. And when you pray, do not keep on babbling like pagans, for they think they will be heard because of their many words. Do not be like them, for your Father knows what you need before you ask him.”
What did that mean?
“Your Father knows what you need before you ask him.” The words circled in her mind and sank into her heart.
Was it acceptable to cry out with her heart? Did God understand her pain? Had He heard her prayers? Would He answer her cry to save her mother?
The service finally ended.
Miriam felt more exhausted than if she’d cleaned her home from top to bottom. She turned to her mother, ready to explain her tears. She reached for her, tried to snag the sleeve of her dark blue dress, but Abigail was already moving off to help in the kitchen.
Miriam felt small hands pulling on her arm.
“Are you all right, mamm?”
“Yes, dear.”
“You were crying.”
“I was feeling a little emotional.”
“Dat says I’ll understand when I’m a few years older. He says all girls, all women, go through such times.”
“Your dat is a pretty smart guy.”
“I know.” Grace stood on tiptoe and kissed Miriam’s cheek before planting another on her sister, who had begun to squirm and rub at her eyes. “I’m going to find Sadie now, if you and Rachel don’t need me.”
“We’r
e fine. Danki for asking.”
But she didn’t feel fine. She felt like a liar for saying such a thing, even if she had said it so her nine-year-old wouldn’t worry. Rachel’s squirming turned into fussing, followed by howls of hunger, and Miriam sighed in relief. At least she had an excuse to be alone. She hurried from the main room of Esther’s home.
Esther Bontreger, previously Esther Schrocks, had been Miriam’s assistant at the schoolhouse until she’d married. Now she had a boppli of her own. Miriam missed their times together—mornings readying the schoolroom, afternoons sharing a lunch, and evenings in front of the fire in their upstairs apartment. She meant to stop by and visit, but she seldom did.
What had her mother said? “You young girls, you need to learn to be there for one another. Friendship is about more than Sunday socials.”
Here she was, on a Sunday, regretting she hadn’t visited earlier.
Moving down the hall, she knocked on a bedroom door, and when she heard a soft “Come in,” there was Esther, nursing her own infant, who was a month older than Rachel.
“Miriam. Do they need me in the kitchen?”
“No. At least a dozen women are in there. Everything is fine.” Miriam glanced around the tidy little space that had been turned into a room for the baby. A crib was against one wall, a twin bed against the other, and a rocker—where Esther was nursing—was snug in a corner.
“I had to leave the service early. Jake wouldn’t wait. He woke early, so his feeding time is off a little.”
“I don’t mean to disturb you.”
“Don’t be silly. We’re done. Sit here in the rocker. I need to stand and walk with him or he’ll never burp.”
Miriam settled in the chair with Rachel and tried not to notice Esther studying her.
“Difficult service?” Esther asked finally.
“Ya.”
“Because of your mamm?”
Miriam nodded, afraid her tears would start again if she spoke.
“We’re all praying for her. You know that, right?”
Rachel patted her mother’s kapp strings as she settled, content and nursing. Miriam’s tears did start then, and Esther gave her a clean cloth diaper to wipe them with.
“Doc will have the tests back Tuesday?”
“Ya. I thought they’d call earlier, but there have been no messages at the phone shack. I’ve checked every day.”
“He would have driven out if he’d heard anything. You know Doc Hanson.”
Miriam nodded, not trusting her voice.
Esther pulled a lap quilt off the side of the crib and placed it over the quilt on the twin bed. Laying Jake on it, she began to change him. Even at four months, the boy was a spitting image of his dat—long, thin, with a mop of brown hair and a lopsided grin.
“I want to ask your forgiveness, Miriam.”
“Whatever for?” Miriam looked at the younger woman in surprise. Even after they had birthed their children, and even though they had seen little of each other in the last year, still it was like looking into a mirror. Other than the color of their hair—Miriam’s black and Esther’s the color of wheat—they could have been sisters.
“I should have come by to see you and Rachel.”
“And we should have come to see you—”
“Nein. Your hands have been very full. You married into a family, Miriam. One daughter already, a husband, Rachel’s birth, and now your mamm is sick. I should have been by, and I meant to come. I wanted to, but every day it seems I have more work than the day before.”
“I understand. My days aren’t so busy. They aren’t as busy as the days at the schoolhouse—”
“Who can forget those?”
“But still they do seem to hurry by…” Miriam stared out the window. Children were running between the tables as the food was placed out and men helped with the carrying of dishes and seating.
“I meant to come and see you as well. My mamm…” Fear lodged in Miriam’s throat, but she pushed on. “My mamm says we haven’t learned how to be freinden yet. That we haven’t learned how to be supportive of one another.”
Esther finished changing Jake and handed him a quilted toy. “Even on a farm, it seems time won’t slow down.”
Smiling, Miriam raised Rachel to her shoulder. “An Englisch woman at the cabins yesterday was saying how nice it would be to live the Plain life, because we don’t have to worry about time moving so fast.”
“Probably she has never milked a cow or done laundry the old way. Those things tend to steal hours from your day.”
“I wouldn’t change it, though. Would you, Esther?” Miriam cocked her head, wanting a truthful answer from her friend.
“No. I enjoy our life, and I appreciate the continuity of it. There are days when I wish I could feel less tired so that I could appreciate it more.”
There was a knock on the door, and Esther’s niece opened it. “Mammi says you’ll miss all of the food if you don’t get out here, and also she wants to see baby Jake before the meal is over. She says she can’t eat without holding her newest grandkinner in her lap.”
“Tell her I’ll be right there.”
Miriam rose too after readjusting her dress. The pain from the service was still in her heart, but she felt better from her time with Esther. How had she forgotten that she wasn’t alone? Others understood and knew what they were going through. They were praying, and their prayers counted.
Whatever Doc Hanson’s tests revealed, at least they wouldn’t have to face it alone.
Chapter 23
Aaron stood when he saw Elizabeth heading toward his table.
“Is everything all right?”
“Yes. I wanted to make sure you don’t need a ride back to the cabins.”
“Nein. David or Seth will drop me. You’re leaving already?”
Elizabeth’s laughter eased some of the worry in Aaron’s heart. “We’ve been eating for nearly two hours.”
“Oh. True, but I thought the girls would stay and play longer. I promised Beth I’d go with her to see some calves or something…I didn’t quite understand what she was asking.”
“You’re a wunderbaar cousin. Beth will run you ragged if you let her, and she’s already been to see the newborn calves.” Elizabeth attempted a smile, but it trembled a little and finally fell away. “We tend to go home early on Sunday afternoons so the girls have plenty of time to rest in the afternoon.”
Her gaze dropped to the ground and back up, darting over the group of family and friends from their church. Aaron was reminded that this must all be very hard for her. She was used to enjoying the meetings and picnics with Ervin.
“Thank you again for all you’ve done at the cabins.”
“It’s a start, Elizabeth, but we still have a long way to go.”
Her smile this time was genuine. “Ervin would be proud, and I appreciate your hard work. I should go. Maybe I’ll see you later in the week.”
Aaron watched the girls run up and join her as she left. Beth turned and walked backward, waving at him as the group moved toward the buggies.
He almost forgot about the other people at his table as he grew drowsy sitting in the warm afternoon sun. He wanted one more piece of apple pie, but he knew from experience it would make his stomach hurt to stuff himself.
Then again, if he went to the dessert table, he’d be able to talk to Lydia. He hadn’t had a private word with her all day. She was surrounded by people every time he glanced her way. First it had been women and children during the service, and then it had been teenaged boys and men since the meal had begun.
He had thought to sit by her when she took a break to eat her own meal, but he hadn’t yet seen that happen. How was a man supposed to speak the things that were on his mind when she was never alone? It had been that way since the four families of Englischers had shown up at the cabins. He almost longed for the days when the cabins were empty, which was crazy.
Busy was good. Good for business. Good for Elizabeth, and good f
or getting him back home to Indiana.
Finally, the crowd at the table where Lydia was serving disappeared.
“Where are you headed?” David asked. The man looked as if he were about to fall asleep in his ham salad. His wife had gone into labor on Friday night, but it had been a false alarm. Good thing too, as the baby still had three weeks before it was officially due to arrive.
“Thought I’d have a look over at the desserts.”
“My wife made the apple pie,” Nathan Glick said. “You should have some. She makes the sweetest pies in Pebble Creek.” The man grinned. Plainly he was still crazy in love, though he’d told Aaron they had been married for more than ten years and had three children.
Aaron glanced at the table again and tried to focus, though the fried chicken was settling and he was beginning to feel even sleepier. Lydia was wearing a dark green dress today. It was exactly the opening line he needed.
He stood and started away from the table.
“Wait,” David called. “Bring me back some of my fraa’s oatmeal cookies if there are any left, would you? They don’t last more than a few minutes at my house the way my five kinner eat.”
“Soon to be six,” Nathan reminded him.
“Ya.” David slumped forward on the table.
“Might want to bring him some kaffi as well.”
Aaron nodded and carried his plate over to the dish tubs outside the kitchen door. Setting his utensils in one tub and his plate in the other, he wiped his hands on his pants before moving down the line to where Lydia stood.
She looked up in surprise when he approached her table.
“Hello, Lydia.” He tried to remember what he had decided to say to her, but suddenly his mind went blank. Something about pie and how she looked. “You’re looking as gut as that apple pie today.”
Lydia smoothed her apron over her dark green dress, looked left and then right, and finally stared at him as if he’d stepped into Nathan’s fields and splattered mud all over his Sunday clothing.
“That is…what I meant to say was…uh…nice dress.”
A Home for Lydia (The Pebble Creek Amish Series) Page 16
