by Marta Perry
He put his arm around his son. “A little bit.” He hugged the boy close, rejoicing in the sturdy little body. “I wish . . .” I wish you could have known her. That’s what he was thinking, and it shocked him. Whatever Levi might know about his aunt Jessie, it had come from someone else, not from him.
He was shamed, suddenly. How could it be right that Jessie and Deborah and Mary, to say nothing of Mammi and Daadi, should be unknown to Joseph and the other children, and all because of him?
“I wish I remembered them.” Joseph said it in a soft voice, his eyes still on the dog. “I’ve always thought maybe it would be gut to have pictures, like the Englisch do, because then I could see them.”
“The pictures you make in your mind are even better,” Judith said. “You can see her now from the things we said about her, ain’t so?”
Joseph nodded. “Ja.” His voice trembled on the word, and he wiped his face with his hand, leaving a smear of dirt on his cheek. He held the wooden dog out to Isaac, not speaking.
Isaac’s throat clenched. He closed his hand over his brother’s, carving and all. “You should have it. To remember your sister.” He glanced at Levi, who had found it, after all. “Okay, Levi?”
Levi nodded, his face solemn as if he knew he was taking part in something very important.
“Denke.” Joseph’s face lit up like sunshine, and for an instant he looked so much like Jessie. “Denke.”
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
Lancaster County, Late September 1953
Mattie sat at one end of the study table in the kitchen, trying to catch up with her part of the Round Robin letter for her cousins. She wanted to sound more hopeful than she felt at the moment, even while being honest with them. If she couldn’t write out her confused feelings to her dear cousins, whom could she tell?
Still, she didn’t want them worrying overmuch about her. There were plenty of worried people around her already, and no sense in adding any more. She could only hope and pray that what happened here in their small school district would put an end to the struggle, so that other mothers wouldn’t have to face what she did, but somehow she didn’t think it would be that easy.
God had not promised life would be easy. He had promised that He would be with those who believed. Their part was to believe and to keep their own promises.
“Greet the cousins for me, Mammi.” Rachel sat at the other end of the table with Anna on her lap, helping her little sister practice printing her name.
“Ja, I will,” Mattie said, cherishing this quiet time at the end of a busy, worrisome day.
On either side of her, the boys did their homework—Nathaniel working through his steadily, while Toby circled objects on a page quickly and then had to turn back and erase when Rachel pointed out an error.
Rachel had been cutting out a new dress when Mattie told the boys it was homework time, but she’d left her work to come and supervise the younger ones’ tasks. Without being asked, of course. Rachel had voluntarily decided to take over homework supervision once school started, and Mattie suspected Rachel did it even better than she did, never growing impatient and quietly recalling her brothers to their jobs when their attention wandered.
Mattie turned back to her letter and started a new paragraph.
Rachel is getting so grown up these days—far more mature than we were at fourteen, I think. Perhaps the trouble we’ve gone through has made her more serious than she otherwise would be, but she’s such a sweet girl, and I long so much for her to have the life we’ve dreamed of for her.
Why shouldn’t Rachel have that life? A flare of rebellion lit Mattie’s thoughts. Rachel had already been through the pain of losing her father. Why should she have to be the one to undergo this trial?
Mattie fought to dismiss the thought. God was with them, and nothing would happen to them that was not in accord with His will. It was just so hard sometimes to remember.
She put her pen down and moved to the sink for a glass of water, drinking it standing and looking out the window. It was getting dark already, with the days growing shorter as autumn drew in, tightening its grip. Despite the beauty of the season, with the fields turning gold in the slanting afternoon sun, she hated to see the year moving inexorably toward winter.
The kinder loved winter, of course, looking forward eagerly to the ice on the pond and the first snowfall. But it became lonely on those long winter evenings. When it was dark by suppertime, no one dropped by to visit. She’d never thought of winter evenings that way when Ben was alive, instead looking forward to those precious moments when the kinder were in bed and they were alone together, talking or reading or just sitting quietly, knowing the other was close at hand.
The memories were fading, she knew, gently but as inexorable as winter’s arrival. At first, after Ben’s death, those memories had been too painful, but eventually she’d welcomed them. She’d clung to them, even when they were bittersweet. Now, it seemed they’d become removed enough to look at, remember with love, and then put away like a letter she’d read but wanted to save.
And that thought brought her inevitably to Adam. At least now she could think about him without her cheeks growing hot as if she were a sixteen-year-old. Surely by now he had gotten over his foolishness. He hadn’t mentioned it again, so maybe that meant he had realized how wrong it would be to marry a woman older than he was, and with a family already.
That was what she wanted, wasn’t it? For him to forget about it? So why did something in her heart long to reject the thought that he’d given up so easily?
She turned back to the room and then glanced out the window once again, half watching for someone moving along the lane or across the field. Adam had accepted her refusal to let him sleep in the barn to protect her and the children, but apparently only because he and Daad Jonah had hatched another plot between the two of them.
They seemed to think she wasn’t aware that the two of them had been coming by the house to check on her throughout the evening, and on into the night, as well. The younger children hadn’t realized it, but Rachel had noticed, too. It hadn’t taken much explaining on Mattie’s part to let her know why they were doing such a thing.
In fact, Rachel seemed to feel better because of it, as if she had been secretly uneasy when they were here alone in the night. Mattie had to admit, though she didn’t think she’d tell Adam or her father-in-law, that she felt a bit safer knowing they were out there.
It was pointless to peer out the window, she chided herself. They wouldn’t come by this early. She returned to her chair and her letter.
It wasn’t a minute later that Mattie heard the sound of a vehicle turning into the lane. She stiffened, dropping her pen, and her gaze met Rachel’s. She read there the same fear she felt herself.
The deputy serving the papers wouldn’t come at this hour, would he? Each time it had happened so far, it had been during the day. She had convinced herself, once evening came, that she was safe for another night. What if the police had changed their plans, maybe thinking to avoid having other people around when they served the papers?
The sound of the car grew louder as it neared the house. It wasn’t just someone using the lane to turn around in. It was someone coming to see her.
Mattie was suddenly so cold she felt as if she’d been turned to ice. Would she be able to move if she had to? Or would she shatter into pieces, like an icicle the kinder might knock down from the eaves?
“Mammi?” Fear laced Rachel’s voice, and it recalled Mattie to herself. She was the mother. She had to stay calm so the kinder wouldn’t be frightened.
“It’s all right.” They both heard the slam of a car door and footsteps mounting the porch steps. “I’ll go. You stay with your brothers and sister.”
Rachel nodded, her eyes wide, and the other three children watched with varying degrees of comprehension. Had she explained well enough what might happen if the
police came to her? If not, it was too late now, as a knock sounded on the door.
Mattie rose, steadying herself with one hand on the study table. Then she walked to the door, ready to see a uniform through the pane.
She didn’t, and for a moment she couldn’t comprehend what she was seeing. Mrs. Graham stood there, on Mattie’s back porch—the school board president’s wife.
Smoothing down her apron, Mattie opened the door. “Mrs. Graham. Wilkom. I’m afraid the stand is closed, but if you need something . . .”
“It’s not that.” The woman’s smile flickered unconvincingly and was gone. “I . . . I’d just like to talk with you.”
“Please, komm.”
She gestured, and Mrs. Graham walked into the back hallway, lined on one side with hooks for outdoor clothing, and through into the kitchen. There she paused, looking around so intently that Mattie guessed she’d never been inside an Amish home before.
“These are my children. Rachel and Anna you’ve probably seen at the stand. And the boys are Nate and Toby.”
“I remember Nate, too. He gave my little girl half his whoopie pie.” She managed a genuine smile for the children.
“We were just doing homework,” Mattie explained, her mind whirling in search of a reason why the wife of the school board president would be calling on her. “I have coffee warm on the stove, and there’s berry pie—”
“No, no, I can’t stay,” the woman said quickly. “Is there someplace we can talk privately?” She glanced at the children, making it clear that whatever she wanted to say wasn’t for their ears.
“Come into the living room, please.” Mattie darted a stern look toward Anna, who’d begun to slide off Rachel’s lap as if she thought the invitation was for her. “Rachel, will you finish up here with the kinder?”
Don’t let them come into the other room. That was what she meant, and her daughter’s expression told her that Rachel understood. Rachel nodded, drawing Anna close to her.
Mattie led the way to the living room and gestured toward the sofa. Once her guest sat, she drew a rocker up closer to her, so that they might talk in lower voices. With the gas lamp on the table between them, the room was as it might have been in those memories of hers of evenings with Ben. But nothing about this visit from Mrs. Graham was likely to be comforting.
Mattie clasped her hands in her lap to keep them from shaking, and then she realized that the other woman was doing the same thing. Oddly enough, that gave her a little confidence. If Mrs. Graham needed the comfort of a hand holding hers, they were more alike than she might have feared.
“Are you sure you won’t have something? A cup of tea, if you don’t care for coffee?” Just the action of putting the kettle on, then of drinking or eating something together, might make this encounter less upsetting.
“That’s kind of you, but no. I really can’t stay. Walter thinks I’m at a women’s meeting at church.” The woman glanced toward the front windows as if she expected to be spotted and asked to account for her presence.
“He doesn’t know you’re here, then.” There’d been little chance that Mrs. Graham had come at her husband’s suggestion anyway. But it surprised Mattie, after what Mrs. Graham had said about never interfering in her husband’s business, to find her apparently doing so. Why else could she have come, if not because of the school problem?
“No, Walter doesn’t know I’ve come. He wouldn’t be pleased.” She paused, her hands clinging to each other in her lap. “This is so difficult.” The woman’s eyes widened, as if she feared she’d said something she shouldn’t. “I don’t mean that being here with you is difficult. You’ve always been so nice when we’ve talked at the stand. I felt . . . well, as if we might have been friends if not for this whole situation. This business of the school is what is so upsetting.”
“Ja, it is,” Mattie agreed.
More for her than for the other woman, Mattie would think, but she fought down the uncharitable reaction. Clearly the Englisch woman was upset. Not all the Englisch had turned against them in this struggle.
Mrs. Graham took a deep breath and seemed to straighten. “I want to apologize to you.”
“It’s not your fault.” Mattie wasn’t sure it was right to blame anybody for what was happening. In this matter, the Amish and the Englisch just seemed to be on a collision course.
“No, but perhaps . . .” She hesitated. “Perhaps none of us can sit back and say it’s not our fault. If people had talked with each other sooner, we might have resolved the conflict.”
“The bishop says that people of good will can always come to an agreement.” Mattie frowned, feeling her way, longing to express herself but afraid she couldn’t. “Maybe that will still happen. I know some people are working toward a resolution.”
The woman nodded. “I’ve heard, and I’m praying they will succeed. I’m just so . . . so very sorry that things have gotten so out of control. I’m sure this was never what anyone imagined. How could anyone want to see parents going to jail for trying to take care of their children in the way they think best?”
The words touched Mattie’s fears. She closed her eyes for an instant, reaching for calm, and then tried to smile at the woman who looked so worried.
“Denke. Thank you. It’s kind of you to say so.” She hesitated, but it might be important to know as much as possible, and she couldn’t let this opportunity slip away. “Do you think there are others in the Englisch community, besides people like Pastor Colby who have already spoken up, who feel the same as you do?”
“I’m sure there are many.” A shadow crossed her face. “People like me, who stayed silent too long. But it’s only fair to tell you that my husband isn’t among them.”
That would have been too much to hope for, Mattie supposed. “I’m sure he feels he’s doing what is right.”
Mrs. Graham surprised her by wrinkling her nose. “Or maybe he just can’t admit he’s been wrong.”
Encouraged, Mattie asked, “Isn’t there anyone he might listen to? The bishop, or Pastor Colby, or . . . or you?”
The woman was already shaking her head. “I have tried. It’s no use.” She seemed to brace herself. “That’s why I’m taking the step of coming here. I shouldn’t get involved, but Walter won’t listen, and you’ve always been so kind, and I just felt . . .” She seemed to peter out.
Impulsively, Mattie reached out to clasp her hand. “I’m glad you came tonight. I was sitting here worrying, and it makes me feel better to know you understand.”
Mrs. Graham’s eyes suddenly filled with tears, startling her. “That’s not the only reason I came. I had to tell you—” She stopped, shook her head, and started again, staring down at their clasped hands.
“When I was cleaning Walter’s den, I saw some papers he’d left on his desk. I shouldn’t have looked at them, I know. But I just glanced that way and saw something, and then I couldn’t look away. I saw your name.” She looked up again, meeting Mattie’s gaze, and her eyes were filled with anguish. “I read the paper. It contained a list of names, and it had dates on it. At first I didn’t understand, but then I realized. They were the dates on which each person was going to be served with the order to obey or be arrested.”
She must be numb, Mattie decided, because she couldn’t seem to move. She could only hold on tightly to Mrs. Graham’s hand and wait.
“I’m sorry.” A tear spilled over on the woman’s cheek. “I truly am sorry. But you’re going to be served with the papers tomorrow.”
So. Mattie had known it would come, sooner or later. Now she knew when. Tomorrow. She was astonished that she felt so calm now that the blow had fallen. She had been waiting for it, and now that it had come she actually was relieved that she didn’t have to wait and worry any longer.
“Thank you.” Mattie articulated the words carefully. “I know it must have been hard for you to come here.”
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Mrs. Graham shook her head. “Not hard, no. Just . . . it seemed to be right, and I hope I haven’t made things worse for you. I just thought, if I was the one, I’d want to know.”
“You were right,” she said quickly. “It’s best to know. I’ll be able to prepare the kinder . . . the children . . . better for what is going to happen now that I know.”
Mrs. Graham nodded. “That’s what I felt.” A smile trembled on her lips, and her hand moved in an almost unconscious gesture that seemed to link them. “We’re not so different. We’re both mothers.”
They were both mothers. Mrs. Graham was right. That made a bond stronger than anything that separated them. Even if Mrs. Graham could do nothing else to help her, she had understood a mother’s feelings.
Somehow that understanding made Mattie a little less afraid of what was to come. As the bishop had said, surely people of good will could reach an understanding if they really tried. Just by coming here, Mrs. Graham had proved that was true.
• • •
One bad-tempered hen squawked furiously before flapping out of Judith’s way so that she could claim an egg from the nest. It was still warm, and she cradled it in her hand for a moment before putting it in the basket. Isaac kept saying she ought to turn this chore over to the kinder, but the truth was that she enjoyed gathering the eggs.
The harmony brought on by the discovery of Jessie’s carved dog had lasted nearly a day now, and Judith was beginning to breathe easier. Maybe this would be a new beginning for Isaac and Joseph. And for Isaac and her, as well.
Did he realize how thankful she was that he had managed to talk to the kinder about his little sister? She hoped so. Even though she could see that the reminder had brought its share of renewed grief to Isaac, his expression had eased, as if the telling had not only helped Joseph, but had lightened Isaac’s own burden, as well.
It seemed to her that Isaac’s grief, turned inward, had festered like a wound that had to be exposed in order to heal. Maybe now that he’d taken some painful first steps in bringing his pain into the open, he would find his grief easier to bear by sharing. That was what she prayed for.
