The Calling

by Suzanne Woods Fisher

“I thought I’d stop over at Eagle Hill before the day begins and see if Bethany’s doing all right after last night’s scare.”

  “Hold on a minute, Jimmy.”

  “What is it, partner? You look like someone has died. Naomi’s all right, isn’t she?”

  “She’s fine. Jimmy, when I got up early this morning, I noticed that the barn door was wide open. Someone had been in there during the night. But I never heard a thing.”

  Jimmy snapped to attention. “What’s happened?”

  Galen rubbed his chin. “It’s Lodestar. He’s gone missing.”

  Bethany sent Luke and Sammy outside with a basket to gather eggs in the henhouse because Jimmy said he wanted to talk to her privately. He pulled out a kitchen chair. “Bethany, sit down. There’s something I need to tell you before your brothers find out.”

  At the kitchen sink washing breakfast dishes, Bethany wiped her soapy hands on a dishrag and sat at the table. She could hear the drip of water in the sink as she waited for Jimmy to say what was on his mind: plink, plink, plink.

  He cleared his throat. “Lodestar was stolen.”

  Bethany’s shoulders shivered faintly. She squeezed her hands together into tight fists. “Jake,” she said in a deadly quiet voice.

  “Probably. Can’t prove it but probably so.”

  Bethany sat there fuming for a few seconds, then she slammed her palms on the tabletop. “It isn’t fair. It isn’t right! He takes everything we love.” She shook her head as if trying to shake off an image of Jake. As quickly as it came, the fury drained out of her and a ripple of hope crossed her face. “Do you think you can find Lodestar?”

  “I don’t know.” He lifted his hands, showed his palms. “Maybe . . . it’s for the best.”

  “How so?”

  He leaned back in the chair so the front two legs lifted. “My mother has been after me to manage the chicken and egg business, full-time.”

  “But you hate chickens.”

  “I do indeed. But she’s my mother and I do love her. And maybe I’ve been making too much of being a horse trainer. It’s created nothing but tension with my mother. I left Paul alone to handle the chicken business and that wasn’t fair, either. Sometimes, the things we love can turn into our glory. My sense of purpose, my significance—I put it into something finite. Maybe horse training has become too important to me.”

  Bethany pressed the heels of her palms into her eyes. “Jimmy,” she whispered, wiping guilty tears with the back of her hand. “I’m just so sorry . . .”

  He crossed his arms over his chest. “Why? You didn’t do anything.”

  “If I hadn’t introduced Jake to my father in the first place, he wouldn’t have swindled all those people, and you wouldn’t have lost Lodestar.”

  Jimmy’s mouth split into a grin and he shook his head. “Boy, you sure think a lot of yourself, Bethany. I’m perfectly capable of making my own mistakes, thank you.”

  “But . . .”

  “I’m the one who was dazzled by Lodestar and bought him from Jake without getting a bill of sale. I did that all by myself. Maybe I’ve lit too many firecrackers in my day,” he said, rapping his head with his fist. “Or maybe I’m just stubborn. Probably that. But whatever I am, whatever I’ve done, I’ve done myself. So quit trying to hog all the credit, will you? Besides, I’m glad things happened the way they did.”

  Seeing her open mouth, he laughed. “Don’t look at me like that. I mean it. I’d been thinking about all this even before Lodestar went missing. I’ve ignored my mother’s need for help with the chicken farm. I think maybe God had to shake me to get my attention.”

  “You think God arranged for Lodestar to get stolen?”

  “Well, I don’t think God opened the stall door or anything like that, but I do think he used the situation to shake some sense into me. Galen said once that the hardest choices in life aren’t between what’s right and what’s wrong but between what’s right and what’s best.”

  He leaned forward to brush tears from her cheeks. “And who knows? With that horse’s penchant for running, maybe I won’t have to find him at all. Maybe he’ll come back to me.”

  She tried to smile, but it came out all wrong: sad and pitiful.

  “So, think you don’t mind being courted by a chicken farmer?”

  Bethany’s back went straight up. “And who said anything about courting, Jimmy Fisher?”

  He wiggled his eyebrows up and down. “When are you going to admit you’re crazy about me?”

  She gave him a sly look. “You want me to turn into a quiet, timid little Amish girl.”

  Jimmy grinned. “Not hardly.”

  “Let me tell you something, Jimmy Fisher, I am not the kind of girl who cares about silly things, like whose cobbler tastes best at Sunday potlucks or what anyone might be saying about an early winter or an early thaw or if the wheat might blight this year due to heavy rains.”

  “I want you just the way you are. Spitfire and all.” He scooted his chair closer to her. “You know you’re sweet on me, Bethany.”

  “Maybe I am, but that’s beside the point.”

  “What is the point?” He scooted his chair even closer to her, his gaze fixed on her lips. “The only thing on my mind is kissing you.”

  “You need more on your mind, Jimmy Fisher.” She turned her chin away, trying not to think about being kissed by him, so of course all she could do was think about it. His fingers were brushing her hair from her neck and then his lips fell there, on her nape, which made her shudder. He noticed. “Look at me,” he said quietly.

  And as if her body belonged to someone else, that’s what she did. She turned to face him and he kissed her. Sweetly at first, full of tenderness. Gentleness. She felt safe here, in his arms.

  Luke and Sammy ran past the kitchen windows, holding a basket between them full of freshly gathered eggs.

  “Bethany!” Luke shouted. “Open the kitchen door. The basket’s heavy and we’re hungry!”

  Jimmy released her. “What happens if we give it a try, Bethany? This relationship thing?”

  She only looked at him.

  Jimmy smiled his slow, wonderful smile and plopped his hat back on his head. “I’ll talk to you soon.”

  19

  Geena had been right to encourage Bethany to wait before asking the sisters about her mother. She felt better prepared to hear the truth than she had last week, when it was fresh. Painful. She had needed time to “process,” as Geena would say.

  But the time had come to find out more. Bethany had woken up on Monday morning with a strange inner knowing that it was time. Could it be she was finally sensing the intuition that Naomi said belonged to everyone? Or maybe it was the prompting from God that Geena had said would come, in good time. And here it was.

  Over the weekend, Bethany had confided in Naomi, telling her everything she knew about her mother, and Naomi had repeated her standing invitation to the quilting bee. “Come to the quilting bee on Monday,” Naomi said. “Come and ask.”

  Bethany hadn’t given Naomi a definite answer, but all morning long, she kept getting a tug she couldn’t ignore. More like a push. At noon, she appeared at Naomi’s front door. “I’m going to go.”

  Naomi smiled, as if she knew all along.

  The Sisters’ Bee was meeting at Edith Fisher’s house. A Log Cabin quilt top, pieced from purple and blue fabrics, was stretched onto a large frame in the living room, with chairs positioned around the frame. The women were just finding their places as Jimmy Fisher darted in and handed his mother a bag of lemons. His eyes locked on Bethany’s and he made his eyebrows do that crazy up-down dance, which always made her grin as hard as she tried to squelch it. Edith Fisher caught their look and glared suspiciously at Bethany, who ducked her head in embarrassment.

  Edith held up the bag of lemons. “I’ll put the teakettle on. I’m serving my shortbread,” she announced as if it were a surprise.

  “I’d hoped you would,” Naomi said kindly.

&nb
sp; Bethany had hoped she would not, but fat chance. She was amazed that Naomi—who was a fine baker—could be so charitable about Edith Fisher’s rock-hard shortbread. A person could chip a tooth on it.

  The ladies chatted to each other in a mingling of Penn Dutch and English. For a moment Bethany closed her eyes, letting the harmonious sound of the two mingled languages fill her. The best sound, she thought. Like music.

  “Has anyone seen my favorite thimble?” Ella asked Bethany and Naomi. “I’ve misplaced it.”

  More and more, Bethany felt a spike of concern about Ella’s with-it-ness. She was always looking for that one lost thimble, the one with the band of roses around its base, though she had plenty of other thimbles.

  When the women had settled in their seats and pulled out their needles and thread, Bethany took a deep breath and blurted out, “I have a question to ask and I would like an answer.”

  Heads bobbed up. The sisters looked curiously at Bethany.

  “I want to know the truth about my mother.”

  Hands stilled. Chins dropped to chests and eyes riveted to needle and thread. All but Naomi. She kept her head high. Bethany was so glad she was beside her. “I went to Hagensburg. I saw my mother. I know she’s schizophrenic. I also know that some of you visit her once a month.” She hoped someone in the room would speak, but it was as quiet as death.

  The ladies peeked around the circle at one another, avoiding Bethany’s eyes; then each turned to Edith Fisher, just as they always did when there was a difficult decision to make. It was remarkable how much authority Edith possessed. She would have made a fine deacon, Bethany thought, and wondered why in the world she was thinking such a stray thought when she was waiting to hear the truth about her mother.

  “What’s that you were saying?” Edith Fisher said stonily.

  “I said I wanted to know the truth about my mother.”

  Sylvia let out a deep sigh and set down her needle. “I always thought we should have told her, right from the beginning. Do I have your permission, sisters?” She looked around the circle for approval. “Edith, is it all right for Bethany to know our secret about Mary?” Everyone waited.

  Bethany looked at Edith Fisher. She shrugged her big shoulders up and down, but at last, she muttered, “I suppose we knew this day would come, sooner or later.”

  Sylvia picked up her needle and thread and set to work. “Bethany, your mother started this quilting bee,” she said. “When she married your father, she moved here to Stoney Ridge and asked Ella to teach her to quilt. Ella has always been known for her fine quilting and for her bottomless well of patience.” She nodded at her sister.

  Ella seemed pleased with the compliment. “Patience is a virtue.”

  “That it is, dear,” Ada said. “And in short supply today.”

  Oh no. Once the sisters veered off topic, it was never a short trip back.

  “She called us the Sisters’ Bee, your mother did. And soon a few others joined in who weren’t good quilters. Edith, for example.”

  Edith’s sparse eyebrows lifted.

  “It’s the truth, Edith,” Fannie said. “Your stitches were long as inchworms.”

  “They never were!”

  “Knots the size of flies,” Lena added.

  Edith’s lips flattened into a thin line of disgust.

  Lena waved that away. “It wasn’t your fault, Edith. You just hadn’t learned right. You’ve made a lot of progress over the years.”

  Bethany cleared her throat to remind them of the topic of her mother.

  Sylvia picked up on Bethany’s cue. “Your mother was a pretty girl, just as pretty as you. She and your daddy made a fine pair. But your mama was awful young when they married. And she started showing signs of the sickness before Tobe was born.”

  “What kind of signs?” Bethany asked.

  “She grew fearful,” Ada said.

  “Oh yes, yes,” Fannie said, nodding her head. “I remember that now. She thought someone was after her. She wasn’t always sure what was real and what wasn’t. But she had good days, when she seemed right as rain. We all thought the sickness would go away after the baby came.”

  The sisters nodded. “We did think that,” Sylvia said. “But after Tobe was born, the sickness came on her and didn’t leave. It hit her hard. We all tried helping out—sometimes new mothers get the baby blues.”

  Fannie shook her head. “This wasn’t the baby blues.”

  “No, it wasn’t,” Sylvia said. “It was something we didn’t know how to handle. Our church was different back then. We had a different bishop—it was after Caleb Zook’s time—”

  Ella spoke up. “Caleb Zook would have known how to help her. He was a fine, fine bishop.”

  All five sisters nodded. Even Edith gave a curt bob of her head. Just one.

  “Our bishop at that time was hard on Mary,” Ada said. “He convinced her that she was being punished for her sins.”

  Sylvia poised her needle in the quilt, then looked up. “Poor Mary got sicker and sicker—strange, strange behavior. That doctor gave her some medicine, but she didn’t like the way it made her feel. She slept almost around the clock.”

  “All day and all night,” Ella echoed.

  “And they didn’t know as much about mental illness twenty-some years ago,” Sylvia said. “Mary couldn’t tolerate those drugs, sleeping all the time, not with a little toddler running around. Your daddy took her to more doctors and tried more medicines. One doctor said she would need to be locked up before she hurt herself. Then your daddy heard about a Braucher in Ohio and they paid him a visit. When they came back from the faith healer, they threw away her medication. They both thought she was healed. Your daddy—” she sighed, “well, the need to believe things were going to be all right was a powerful one. And for a little while, she did seem better.” She looked around the room at her sisters. “Remember that?”

  Capstrings bounced in agreement.

  “Then she became in the family way with you,” Sylvia continued. “And the sickness came back to her and wouldn’t leave. One of us took turns staying with her, all the time.”

  A hot, crushing sensation sharpened in Bethany’s chest. “What happened then?”

  The sisters exchanged a glance, then their eyes settled on Edith Fisher.

  “It was a hot summer day and I was on duty with her,” Edith said. “Tobe had fallen outside, so I ran out to see if he was hurt. Your mother was resting, and you were in your cradle, sound asleep. But when I came back in, I found her . . .” She stumbled on the words, then stopped. She puffed air out of her cheeks and looked away.

  Whatever Edith was trying to say, it was hard for her.

  She turned back to look straight at Bethany. “I found her trying to drown you in the bathtub. She said you had a demon in you.”

  What did that mean? The heat of the afternoon made Bethany feel like she might faint. She opened her mouth to speak, then stopped. The hot spot on her chest grew hotter and larger, spreading up her neck to her cheeks. This truth . . . as it settled in, it was searing her heart.

  “So we packed Mary up and took her to that little house for sick ladies,” Sylvia said. “And we never told your daddy or anybody else where she’d gone.”

  Bethany’s breaths came in rapid pants and her throat was so dry. “You did that? You let my father, all of us, think she had run off? Just abandoned us?”

  “We did,” Sylvia said gently, firmly, “and we’d do it again.”

  “But . . . why? How could you do such a thing?”

  “We were afraid your father would go get her and bring her back and then we didn’t know what she might do. To herself, to you, to Tobe. We couldn’t risk that.”

  Bethany dropped her hands in her lap and looked hard at Sylvia. “But that wasn’t fair! It wasn’t right. Not to my father, not to the rest of us. To not know where she’d gone or why.”

  “It might not have been fair,” Sylvia said, “but it was better than the alternatives.”
r />   “How could you put someone away without their will?”

  “It wasn’t against her will,” Edith interrupted impatiently. She’d let Sylvia be in charge long enough. “This was all Mary’s idea. She had asked us to help her, begged us, if there came a point when she couldn’t take care of you or Tobe. We loved her. We did what she wanted. We even helped with the divorce papers even though it went against our beliefs.”

  “Against everything we believed in,” Fannie said.

  “We didn’t think it was the right thing to do. If the bishop knew, we would’ve been in hot water ourselves.”

  “Terrible hot water,” Ella echoed.

  “Kneeling on the front bench,” Ada added.

  “We tried talking Mary out of it,” Edith said, “but she was adamant.”

  “But . . . you helped her get a divorce? My father would never have divorced my mother, no matter how sick she became.”

  “That’s true,” Sylvia said, “but he also wasn’t willing to protect her. His need to believe everything was all right was stronger than the facts.”

  Bethany felt a chill run down her spine. Hadn’t she heard Rose say the same thing to her father as Schrock Investments imploded?

  “I know this is hard for you to understand,” Fannie said, “but your mother was desperate. She had moments of clarity that horrified her and she knew the sickness was getting worse. Your mother needed help and your father wouldn’t get it for her. He could never accept what her sickness was doing to her. He refused to believe that she was as sick as she was. We felt desperate too, Bethany. That was when the Sisters’ Bee had a talk and we agreed to do what Mary asked us to do. We didn’t know how else to help her. I suppose we thought this was her only chance to keep herself safe—for her own sake, for others, to give her some peace of mind.”

  Edith rose. “We never abandoned Mary. We still take care of her. We rotate a schedule and visit her every month.”

  Sylvia gave Bethany a sad smile. “This is why we keep quilting. We raffle off our quilts at local auctions and pay Mary’s monthly bills.”

  Bethany tried to steady herself, tried to breathe, as she absorbed this news. “I need to think about it all. I want—I just—” She stood, hoping her knees wouldn’t buckle. “I can’t take it in.” She headed for the door, then stopped and turned around. “How did you know she would never get well? How could anybody predict that?”