Rachel harrumphed, keeping her head down, her eyes fixed on a torn seam on her husband’s shirt. All of them were mending various items of clothing, gathering for the fun of it as they did several times a year. But today’s frolic was proving not to be much fun for Betsy, and she decided to go about her business, stitching up the hem on her oldest dress, hoping to get another month or two’s wear.
“Ask your mamma if she’s purposely stirring up trouble by bringin’ more English customers into the neighborhood,” Rachel prodded again.
It was daughter-in-law Fannie’s turn to retort. “Listen, Rachel, you can speak directly to Mamma—for goodness’ sake, she’s right there across the table!”
“Jah, and you can’t say yous don’t rely on outsiders for feed and grain and suchlike,” Esther pointed out, momentarily setting her work aside to look at Rachel.
“Feed salesmen ain’t exactly outsiders,” Anna said, reentering the conversation.
“True,” said Betsy, “they’re Mennischte—Mennonite.”
“But tractor salesmen, what ’bout them?” Rachel shot back.
Now Betsy was really peeved. “I have nothin’ at all to do with them.”
“Oh, but others here do . . . and you know right who you are, too!” Rachel rose quickly, marching to the back of the house, where a small washroom had been added on, similar to Reuben’s addition on the Fishers’ own house.
Silence reigned while Rachel was absent, though Betsy felt like spouting off but good. She was being sorely tested here in her sister-in-law’s house, but she was holding her peace all the same, just as she had the day Reuben’s mother had lambasted her. Of course, that had been a different matter altogether.
Well, maybe not so different, come to think of it.
All these insinuations from Rachel and even Anna were directly related to the tension between the church groups. Three of them now—Old Order, New Order, and the Beachys. Truth be told, it was rather surprising that the bishop’s wife would have included womenfolk from all three groups at today’s work frolic.
Got to give her some credit for making an effort at unity, Betsy mused.
She recalled Preacher Manny’s sermon last Sunday on having a brand-new life. Manny had said the Lord would not force His life upon anyone against his or her will. One’s will played a big part in coming or not coming to Calvary’s cross. That, and the divine calling—the inward drawing and wooing, much as in courtship the lover pursued the beloved. Might Anna and the bishop eventually be drawn to salvation? Might Rachel, too? Betsy faithfully prayed so, just as she trusted for others in her community still in bondage to tradition.
Less than one month before changing churches means certain shunning!
Rosanna wished to goodness Cousin Kate had gone to the sewing frolic instead of staying so long after nursing Eli this morning. That her cousin had entirely given up on nursing Rosie seemed odd, though it was time now for Cousin Kate to be done nursing both babies.
Rosanna’s anticipation had nothing to do with keeping Kate away from the babies. But Kate was not at all herself, and her behavior was setting Rosanna on edge. Was it postpartum blues? Plenty of women suffered during the months following a birth, and she, of all people, wanted to be understanding and compassionate. Even so, it jarred her when Kate completely ignored her gentle question about when she planned to stop nursing Eli.
Rosanna tried again. “Two months have come and gone, cousin. Elias and I have appreciated your help, but I’m sure ya have better things to do with your time than make daily visits here.”
Even after this, Kate seemingly refused to look Rosanna in the eye. Instead she leaned over Eli, stroking the dimpled arm that peeked from beneath his blanket.
“Such a handsome one, he is,” Kate murmured. “So like his father.”
Rosanna shuddered at the comment. How would Kate feel in her place? Leaning hard against the doorframe, she tried to see things from Kate’s perspective—how very difficult this must be, giving her babies away. She couldn’t begin to imagine it.
“Look how his right eyebrow arches ever so slightly,” Kate said, tracing it with her pointer finger.
“I’ve noticed, too.”
Then Kate touched her own eyebrow, as if comparing.
Rosanna had to glance away. She could not abide her cousin’s coming here any longer.
Inching back toward the kitchen, she wondered if Kate was taking any herbs known to help alleviate depression. Maybe she should simply go through her cupboard and offer Kate some blessed thistle or evening primrose oil to brew for tea. She knew, as many of the womenfolk did, that these would not interfere with nursing. Though I wouldn’t mind that coming to an end.
Suddenly Kate burst into tears in the next room. “Oh, my precious Boppli.” She rose from the rocking chair, waking tiny Eli. Then, wandering to the front room, she carried him over her shoulder, stroking his back while he blinked his little eyes at Rosanna.
Ach, is she having a breakdown? Or does she really have so little regard for my wishes?
Then and there, Rosanna decided she’d definitely go to the next quilting frolic, or maybe go visiting and take the babies along. Let Kate come to call and simply not find us here!
Nellie Mae suppressed a squeal of delight when she went to pick up the mail before returning to the shop after the noon meal Thursday. Caleb’s name and return address were printed in the corner of an envelope for all to see.
Another letter so soon . . . how bold of him!
She ran across the snowy yard to the front porch, where she sat, in spite of the cold, to read the letter from her beloved.
Dearest Nellie,
I’ve missed you more than I dare to write. I must see you again. Let’s meet secretly at our special place.
I will come on foot this Friday following supper.Hopefully it won’t be too cold for you. Bundle up, all right?
Counting the hours.
Yours always,
Caleb Yoder
She pressed the letter to her lips. He cared deeply for her—that much was clear. He had again risked being found out with yet another letter. Of course, there was nothing for him to fear here, for her parents were not holding an inheritance over her head.
No, Nellie was free to see whomever she wished . . . to marry Caleb, for that matter. Obviously Dat and Mamma wanted her to join them in their beliefs, but they had not expressed any conditions about whom their daughters might marry.
Even so, Nellie worried for Caleb . . . for them. What would he do if his father refused to change his mind and allow him to court her?
Will Caleb love me enough to bid the farm good-bye?
Nellie knew that Caleb’s love for his birthright lay less in the land than in what it meant for his future family. Caleb was not selfish in desiring it. Rather, he showed himself to be prudent and reliable, and for that she loved him all the more. But she could not tell him so before Friday, because she did not dare to write a letter back.
Tomorrow I’ll see him!
CHAPTER 10
Friday evening Nellie managed to leave the house only after helping in the kitchen, making small talk with Mamma and Nan. It was imperative, to her thinking, to lend a hand, since Rhoda hadn’t yet arrived home, something that was becoming the norm. Nellie stayed as long as she could, risking being late for meeting Caleb.
Had her heart ever pounded this hard before? She hurried now along the snowy road to meet her beau, the air of excitement within more noticeable to her than the bitter cold.
Soon, very soon, we’ll be together!
She wished she might have thought to hitch up the horse and buggy. Maybe, just maybe, Caleb was counting on her doing so, though he hadn’t suggested it in his sweet letter. Still, she had plenty of layers on and would fare well on foot for a good couple of hours or so, if necessary.
As she picked her way along the road, she longed to lay eyes on Caleb—to see him, talk to him, and listen to the news he had to share with her. To think they had be
en apart for more than a month. How long would it be till they’d see each other again, after tonight? She would not allow herself to think that way. It was far better to live for this precious moment and be thankful for what time they did have together.
When she rounded the bend of the old mill, she looked everywhere, eager for a glimpse of him. A few couples were already skating on the pond, and their occasional laughter wafted across the millrace to where she stood. She hoped Caleb hadn’t brought his skates, since she hadn’t carried hers. Feeling awkward, even conspicuous, she scanned the area for signs of her beau, in case he’d decided to wait for her off the road.
She squinted through the trees, looking, but when he did not arrive, she circled the stone mill to check the other side. He might have decided to be careful and hide from prying eyes. She hoped she hadn’t misunderstood his letter or arrived too late. Had she lingered too long after supper?
She spied the wrought-iron bench where they’d sat together. The bench seemed to her now a symbol of their courtship, the place where they had shared their first words of endearment and where she had accepted his tender affection. She smiled, recalling the way his gentle kisses had created feathery tickles in her stomach.
Caleb’s fondness for her was evident in the genuinely respectful manner in which he conveyed his love, unlike some boys who pushed the limits. Truly her beau was nothing less than a gentleman.
Turning to face the road, Nellie peered into the twilight, longing for Caleb. Where are you, love?
Though he disliked admitting to harboring any pride, Reuben took pleasure in not being easily ferhoodled. In fact, he was nearly always composed and had refused to be drawn into the too-frequent church debates of late. A good many arguments were flying back and forth between the three Honey Brook Amish groups, despite the bishop’s attempt to keep the peace.
This evening he’d slipped out to visit with his son Eph-ram. The problem, as Reuben saw it, was that Ephram and Maryann had but a few weeks left till the Bann threatened any baptized adults who chose to leave the old church. Where would that leave Ephram if he decided to join Reuben and Betsy in the new church after the grace period was up? While either group of new church folk would surely welcome him, Ephram and his family would be shunned from the old fellowship, many of whose members were blood relatives. If that came about, Ephram’s livelihood would suffer, just as his father’s presently did. Bann or no Bann, there’s no denying times are tough.
Now that Reuben had arrived, he found himself pacing, nervous. “ ’Tis high time we got things out in the open, son,” he said after greeting Ephram.
“I’ll never see things your way, Dat.” His son leaned against the wall, arms folded over his thick chest. “Save your breath, I say.”
Reuben shook his head. “I’ve held my peace long enough,” he said. “I’ve been praying for ya, son.”
“Like I said, Dat, best be savin’ your breath.”
His heart’s closed up. . . .
Lifting his eyes to the rafters, Reuben recalled how unbendable his bishop brother Joseph had been earlier today. Fact was, Ephram and the bishop saw eye to eye—their thinking as skewed as Reuben’s had been for all the years of his life, till now.
“Someone’s been running a newspaper ad for Nellie Mae’s bakery shop in the English paper,” Ephram said, abruptly changing the subject. “The grapevine’s swinging wide and far about it, wonderin’ if it’ll show up in next week’s papers, too.”
“Well, what on earth?”
Ephram’s eyes narrowed. “You mean you had nothing to do with it?”
“Why should I?”
“I just thought—”
“That’s where you got yourself in trouble, son. You’re jumping to conclusions, when you ought to be askin’.” Reuben forced a laugh.
“I’m askin’ now. ”
“Folks wrongly assume things all the time. But what’s it matter if you or anyone else thinks I placed an ad?”
Ephram’s expression turned to one of astonishment. “Matters a whole lot if you’re set on bringin’ in more and more outside folk to Nellie’s bakery shop. Looks bad, like you’re too anxious for the fancy.”
“Ain’t my doin’, that’s for certain.”
“Maybe so, but you’ve been turnin’ the other way for as long as Nellie’s run that shop, ain’t so?”
Reuben could scarcely believe the tone his son was taking with him. He refused to defend his decision to allow the bakery shop to Ephram or anyone else—plenty of Old Order families had roadside vegetable stands and the like.No, right now he was beginning to feel like walking straight out of Ephram’s barn, lest he fall into temptation and put his hands on his brawny son’s shoulders and shake him good. The grapevine was indeed ever present, but the way folk interpreted what they heard from the rumor mill was the real problem.
“Nellie’s Simple Sweets does our family more good than harm,” he said at last. “And I’ve never had cause to question the way your sister handles things. You should have the sense to know she’d no more place an ad than I would.”
After a terse good-bye, Reuben hurried to the buggy, more aware now of the cold. “A body shouldn’t be out in this for long,” he muttered to the horse.
He arrived home to Betsy, who was anxious to discuss Nellie Mae. “She’s been gone awhile—on foot, no less.” She looked up, her embroidery balanced on her lap.
“Meeting a beau, no doubt.” He glanced at the kitchen clock.
“Not just any fella, I don’t think.”
He knew as much. And the worst of it was knowing Caleb Yoder was not likely to shift toward the New Order— not the way his father was shooting off his mouth amongst the old church brethren. If Nellie Mae married Caleb . . . well, it meant a worrisome situation.
“We’ll lose her,” he whispered. “She’ll submit to her beau’s way of thinkin’.”
Betsy frowned.
“And just when I’d hoped she might be leanin’ toward salvation.” He remembered her momentary tenderness after she’d gone with them to hear Preacher Manny that once.
“Let God do His work in His way, love.” She reached for him.
He bussed her cheek. “You’re right ’bout that.” He wouldn’t admit it, for surely his wife suspected it already, but he’d gladly help the Lord along, and right quick, too, where their children were concerned.
Betsy picked up her embroidery hoop. If Reuben wasn’t mistaken, she was repeating a Scripture verse as she worked.
He hadn’t removed his coat, since he’d intended to check on his horses. His boots left prints in the icy snow as he trudged toward the barn, where he looked in on the new foals first. When he was satisfied they each had enough bedding straw, he went to the small corner of the barn where he kept files on his horses’ breeding records, as well as their veterinary appointments. It was there also that he had put in a good many hours crafting the round tables and chairs for Nellie’s bakery shop.
Perching on his work stool, Reuben thought again of the grapevine. “Nonsense is right,” he muttered, tracing a circle in the sawdust on the workbench. He cared not one iota who might’ve paid for the ad. As for bringing it up to Betsy, he’d let her mention it. No sense making a big to-do.
Going to inspect one of the completed chairs, he ran his hand over its smooth seat, then the straight slats on the back. He would be finished by Monday, perhaps at just the right time, too, since Nellie Mae was well enough to tend the store again.
Let the Englischers come. . . .
An enclosed black buggy appeared in the near distance, and Nellie’s heart sank. Puh—no way could it be Caleb. Yet she lingered in the brush, beginning to shiver. Surely Caleb would have an explanation as to why he was this late, if he came at all.
She had heeded his suggestion and worn two sets of long johns, donning her heaviest sweater and warmest black coat over her dress and apron. She guessed she was a sight to see, surely having expanded a few inches in girth.
She observed
the horse and carriage as it slowed. Lo and behold, it came to a complete halt. Suddenly there he was—Caleb, leaping off the buggy! He paused momentarily, evidently searching the area.
She stepped out into the clearing. Goodness, he is here. She placed her hand over her heart as it fluttered with joy. “Caleb,” she whispered.
He let out a stifled whoop and began running through the snow, straight to her. “Nellie Mae!”
Ach, Caleb . . . She struggled to keep her composure at the sight of her beau, her love.
His arms opened for her and she fell into him, welcoming his crushing embrace. “Oh, I missed you so,” she whispered into his long woolen coat.
He pressed his cheek against hers. “Oh, Nellie, honey . . . your face is like ice.” He leaned back to look into her eyes; then he happily hugged her again. He seemed reluctant to release her, but he reached for her hand and led her toward the buggy. “Come, let’s get you warmed up.”
As they walked, he explained that he’d taken the extra time to go to a cousin’s and plead to borrow his new carriage. “I figured we’d be frozen sticks otherwise. There should be enough heavy lap robes to keep you cozy, love.”
Love . . .
Oh, the sound of his voice.
The thought of warmth, after having been so very cold, as well as of having this private time with him, made Nellie hurry to match Caleb’s stride.
“We’ve got ourselves a family buggy.” He chuckled.
“Jah, I see that.”
“It’s not for courtin’, but it’ll keep us much warmer.”
She laughed as he literally lifted her into his cousin’s carriage.
Oh joy!
CHAPTER 11
Once settled in the buggy, Nellie realized just how chilled she was, especially her fingers and toes. As soon as the horse pulled forward onto the road, Caleb let go of the reins and began to warm her hands by rubbing each finger, one at a time, between his own hands, next kissing the tips of them.
The Forbidden Page 6
