But the final trip she and Mom had taken to Lancaster County had been effortless. Things had fallen into place so quickly, Mom had even remarked about it—how often did anyone acquire such perfect accommodations at the last minute? The day before they’d headed out by car, Mom had urged her to take along a nice dress and heels.
“We’re going dancing?” Heather had joked, knowing better.
“We’re going to celebrate us, and that’s all I’ll say.” Her mother had been comically mysterious. Heather had played along, enjoying the fun.
Moe jumped up into her lap, interrupting her reminiscing. “Hey, you!” She stroked his neck and he stretched forward, leaning hard against her fingers. “I’ll miss you . . . and Igor. You’ll be good for the cat-sitter, right?”
Not responding with his usual meowsy reply, he snuggled close as she hugged him. She was glad she’d already made the call to the Lancaster naturopath. Getting in for an appointment would take nearly a full month, but she’d asked to be put on a waiting list. You never knew when someone might cancel.
After evening prayers, Grace caught Adam’s sleeve before he headed to the stairs. “Let’s go walkin’ sometime tomorrow,” she said.
“I’ll have to see.” He gave her a thoughtful smile. “You goin’ to be all right?” he whispered.
She shrugged. “Honestly, I think someone should go and look for Mamma.”
His eyes searched hers. “Remember what Dat said, though?”
“Jah.” While she would indeed pray for Mamma’s safety, she could hardly stand the thought of doing nothing else.
“Can we talk ’bout it tomorrow?” he asked.
“Sure . . . whenever you’re free.” She watched him hurry up the stairs, feeling renewed sadness at the thought of losing him to marriage. Not as depressing as losing Mamma’s presence from home but a great loss all the same.
Yet tomorrow was a new day, as Mamma often said in an attempt to soften the blow of things gone awry.
Grace saw that Dat had gone outside instead of retiring for the night like the rest of the family. She could only imagine the pain of rejection he must be feeling.
After today, everyone will know Mamma’s gone.
In time, no doubt, the bishop would come to speak privately with Dat. Deacon Amos, too—all the ministerial brethren would converge here, as was their way.
Missing Mamma, she went to her parents’ bedroom yet again and slid open the drawer where her mother’s hankies were kept. The slight scent of her sachets wafted upward. She’d looked for Mamma’s things earlier today, but just now she wanted to breathe in the faint scent left over from the plump pillows of potpourri her mother was so fond of. All of them gone, just like Mamma’s personal items.
Turning to look around the room, Grace cried for the loneliness her mother must have experienced. What was in Mamma’s mind and heart that made her believe she had to go away? The question plagued her as she turned toward the bookcase—Mamma’s pride and joy, she’d always said of it—handmade by Dat not long after they’d become betrothed.
Bending down, she noticed a space where several books had stood. Mamma had often talked of her beloved poetry, though not recently. Grace could see that a few, perhaps two or three volumes, were missing.
She must’ve taken them along. Why? Were they more precious than her own children?
Grace dried her eyes and left for her room.
Unable to sleep, Adah sat up in bed, careful not to disturb Jakob. Dear man, he had not felt well all day. Truth be told, neither had she. The whole house seemed to resound with Let-tie’s absence.
She couldn’t help but wonder where her willful daughter was sleeping this night. Any number of places, she assumed. Lettie had as many Plain relatives as the rest of them. Enough to form an entire church district if all of the aunts, uncles, and first cousins were to assemble in one place. And dozens of second cousins were scattered out all over the country—some in Holmes and Wayne counties in Ohio, and a good many in Indiana, too. She wished she’d kept in touch with some of her own first cousins who might have a clue as to Lettie’s whereabouts—if Lettie had indeed gone to visit one of them. Adah was not at all eager to get the rumor mill churning. But heavens, would it be stirred up, beginning tomorrow, when Let-tie’s sisters Mary Beth and Lavina arrived to help wash down walls and whatnot to get Judah’s side of the house ready for worship this coming Sunday.
Didn’t Lettie consider this? Adah knew she mustn’t permit herself to fall into the snare of aggravation, which led too quickly to anger. Let not the sun go down upon your wrath, from Ephesians, was one of the first verses her own mother, Esther Mae, had taught her so many years ago.
Adah refused to let her daughter’s foolishness dictate her emotions, no matter that she wished to goodness she hadn’t been so awful harsh with Lettie down through the years. Or so insistent, back when.
Nighttime had always been the pits during her mom’s excruciating disease, especially the final weeks. Even now, as Heather brushed her teeth and prepared for bed, she had difficulty dismissing the memories of her own insomnia during that wretched time. Alarmed by her mom’s steady decline, there were nights when Heather had wandered into the family room, only to find Mom reclining on the sectional, her legs stretched the full length of it, her head propped up. Always, she wore her pale pink fleece robe, even though the temperature in the house felt comfortable to everyone else. But Mom’s circulation was poor, and she was continually chilly, particularly at night.
One evening, Heather had tucked her feet under her and sat up late, keeping her mother company long into the dark hours, trying not to think about the inevitable. In spite of her attempts to divert her mom’s thoughts, somehow they managed to revisit the diagnosis—the ugly way it had slashed into their lives. “My good life,” Mom said, not in defiance but doing her best to embrace the reality of her cancer.
Heather had wanted to carry some of the suffering, thinking that if her mother’s debilitating pain was so intense that it could seep over into her daughter’s emotions, Heather just might be able to impart something positive in return. So she’d offered her optimism. They were like vessels spilling over onto each other—one draining herself of suffering, one filling the other’s heart with hope. And so they’d passed those final fragile months.
Heather had memorized the words her mother had written in a “just because” card some weeks before her passing: I’ve always felt so well loved by you, Heather. What a beautiful mother-daughter bond we’ve had. In so many ways, you’ve taught me how to love more fully . . . as a parent and as a friend. With love, Mom.
Presently Heather pulled up the blanket, encouraging both Moe and Igor to hop onto it. She smiled at them as their glowing eyes stared her down. “You guys are the best little pals ever,” she said, turning out the light.
Tomorrow she hoped to hear again from Devon’s buddy Don, anxious for an update. Surely if he was worse, I would have heard.
When she dreamed, both Devon and her mom were talking together, and she woke with a start, afraid the dream had some predictive meaning.
No . . . She groaned and reached to move Moe closer, until once again she fell asleep.
Lettie felt the sway of the train, the near-mesmerizing rhythm of the clackety-clack of wheels on the rails. She’d endured the stares of Englischers and the strong smell of cigarette smoke in Pittsburg upon disembarking. Thankfully, she had little trouble locating her second train. The connection in Pittsburg had been more nerve-racking than her boarding in Lancaster—so many more passengers. She’d found herself breathing a prayer when her fear began to rise, and somehow, she’d kept her wits.
Settling deeper into her coach seat, she exhaled, glad for the empty spot beside her on the train to Alliance, Ohio. Her head bobbed repeatedly until she eventually yielded to the sandpaper feel beneath her eyelids and fell asleep at last.
While she slept, she dreamed happily of bygone days—of gripping the softball bat in her youthful hands . . .
swinging it hard and hearing the crack as the ball connected with the wood. That ball had sailed high over the girls’ outhouse, sending the boys jumping the fence. They were late for the clanging bell at the end of recess.
In her dream, she was a tomboy once again, just as she’d been right into her early teens. But that had changed after Samuel Graber’s twinkling hazel eyes met hers during eighth grade, before graduation their final year at the Amish schoolhouse. Oh, how her heart had ached with longing when he looked her way and smiled across the one-room school. Samuel . . . her first true love.
When Lettie awakened, the train was pulling into the Alliance station, and she realized yet again just what she’d done to get this far. Looking at her watch, she saw that it was 1:30 am. Most likely Judah would be up, spending time in the barn with his newborn lambs, a chore he hadn’t asked her to share of late. She’d had her own responsibilities indoors.
Responsibilities I’ve left behind . . .
Her guilty conscience gnawed at her as she reached for her book and woolen shawl, gathering up the things she’d brought on board. All too soon, a time of reckoning would come.
chapter
seventeen
Mamma won’t be back anytime soon,” Dat kept saying in the dream. Over and over the phrase was repeated till Grace awakened with a start. It was well after midnight, and she rose and reached for her robe at the foot of her bed.
Creeping down the steps and into the kitchen, she noticed the door was ajar, and peering out, she saw that the barn door was open, as well. Still feeling drowsy, she decided to take a look. In the past, they’d had lambs stolen—not by anyone among the People, she was sure, but newborn lambs had gone missing all the same.
Moving slowly across the backyard, she took in the night sky. Was Mamma looking at the moon and the sweep of stars tonight, too? Somewhere . . . wherever she’d run off to?
More than likely at this hour, her mother was fast asleep, and Grace wished she, too, might fall into a peaceful slumber. But a bitter root had taken hold in her, planted when Mamma did not turn to acknowledge her out on the road. She knew enough not to nurture it, to allow the memory to entangle her heart. Even so, the knowing and the doing were two different things.
Surprised to hear her father’s voice, tentative and low, coming from the barn, she went in search of him and caught her breath when she spotted his dim silhouette, there in the faint light of the moon. He stood near Willow, his hand stroking her long neck. “Things are in a terrible mess, old girl,” he confessed.
“ ’Tis my fault . . . and there’s no goin’ back.”
Grace had never known her father to express himself so openly to anyone. Yet there he was near beautiful Willow, pouring out his regret.
She stepped back against the gate. Would there be no end to her family’s pain?
Hours later, Grace awakened in her bed, still mulling over what she’d witnessed in the barn. She wished the dawn away as she lay stretching in her bed—she possessed little courage for what was sure to be a difficult day ahead, what with two of Mamma’s older sisters coming. Lavina and younger sister Mary Beth were expected to arrive after breakfast. They would surely wonder why everyone in the house looked to be in mourning. She was fearful, too, of their reaction—what would they think? Would Mamma be harshly judged?
In her mistiness, Grace dozed off again. When the alarm awakened her, she sat up and reached for the Good Book, turning to the Psalms. Mamma had always loved reading them. “Scripture set to poetry,” she liked to say.
Grace finished and marked her place, pondering her upcoming talk with Adam. She wondered what he would advise about her engagement to Henry during such a time as this. Of course, by tomorrow the grapevine might already be rippling with the news of Mamma . . . so it wouldn’t surprise her if it was Henry who decided to postpone their wedding, or even cut off their engagement. She truly hoped he would see fit to stand by her for as long as it took.
She leaned up on her elbows and peered into the dresser mirror. With Mamma gone, it somehow seemed all right to sit and stare at herself. So much had altered so quickly. She thought again of Dat speaking to Willow, of all peculiar things.
When Willow dies, many secrets will go with her, she thought as she got out of bed to brush her hair. She moved to the window, brush in hand, and raised up the blind. Looking out, she remembered the thrill of seeing Henry’s light swirling on the windowpane just the night before last. Setting her brush on the windowsill, she leaned down and opened the window, then knelt there. Deeply, she breathed in the clean morning air. The faint scent of fresh beeswax wafted downwind from their beekeeping neighbors across the road.
She stayed on her knees till they ached. What had kept Mamma from saying she was leaving that night, here in the room where Grace had been so eager to listen? Instead, Mamma had written a puzzling letter . . . one that revealed so little.
She picked up her brush and finished counting the strokes, watching for a glimpse of a hummingbird just outside the window.
Judah moved slowly among his grazing sheep and the older lambs. Voices came from the road, and he looked to see two of Lettie’s sisters—Mary Beth and Lavina—coming this way from the Riehls’ place. He surmised their driver had dropped them off after picking up Andy, who’d planned to visit an ailing brother at Lancaster General Hospital.
Hearing the women’s animated chatter, Judah was certain they knew nothing of Lettie’s sudden and mysterious departure. He could only imagine how quickly their lightheartedness might turn to shock, and he wished he might soften the wallop they were soon to receive. It made not a lick of sense, Lettie’s going away. Especially not with all the new lambs coming on.
Lettie’s sisters continued their prattle as they made the turn toward the driveway. They waved to Adam and Joe, hauling feed, and his sons waved back, glancing at each other as if concerned for what their mother’s sisters were about to discover.
Watching the women make their way toward the house, Judah pushed his hands into his pockets. Steeling his resolve, he hurried across the pasture to the side yard.
From the kitchen window, Grace saw her aunts headed toward the door. She had been watching for them and was surprised to see Dat running across the walk, calling to her aunts. She heard him ask if he might speak with them “before you’s head inside.”
She was tempted to stay right there, but she went upstairs to overhear her father’s explanation through the open hallway window.
Dat’s tone was ever so solemn as he relayed the news, sparing them all but the most pertinent details. “I’m sorry to have to be the one to tell ya,” he said finally.
“Well, what the world’s wrong with Lettie?” Aendi Lavina whimpered softly.
“Is she just wore out, maybe?” asked Mary Beth.
“You’ll go and find her, won’t ya, Judah?” Lavina asked, sounding all out of sorts.
Grace had wondered that, too, and waited for Dat to continue, but it was Mary Beth who spoke next. “Our Lettie’s just upset, ain’t so? What else could it be?”
“Hard to know,” Dat replied, ending the conversation with an awkward thanks for their help today. He turned and headed for the barn, leaving Mamma’s sisters to stand on the stoop, blowing their noses and drying their eyes.
They were whispering to each other now. “You don’t think Lettie’s first beau has surfaced, do ya?” Lavina said—at least that’s what Grace thought she heard.
What a wretched thing to say! She refused to think less than respectfully of Mamma. Surely no one threatened her devotion to Dat!
When she heard the kitchen door open, Grace hurried downstairs to meet them, plastering on a smile.
Aunt Mary Beth had on her rattiest old brown dress and apron, but her hair looked nice and clean, pulled back in the usual tight hair bun, her Kapp strings tied loosely in back. Aunt Lavina’s dark brown hair was already coming free of its bun, stray strands falling on the sides as though she’d been in a hurry to put it up. She wore a
maroon dress and faded black apron, her smile too broad for the news she’d just received.
“Denki for comin’ to help redd up,” Grace said, suddenly conscious of the lump that threatened her voice.
“Oh, we’re mighty glad to . . . ’specially now.” Mary Beth’s eyes locked with Grace’s. “Let’s get started upstairs.”
Grace nodded. “Mammi Adah will be over in short order; she’ll lend a hand. So will Mandy.”
“Jah, gut . . . the more, the merrier,” said Lavina. She caught herself and said, “Ach, sorry.”
Struggling to remain composed, Grace called for Mandy, who promptly came over from the other side of the house. “Time to fill the buckets with lots of warm, soapy water. We’ve got plenty of scrubbin’ to do,” she said as the aunts hugged and kissed Mandy more fondly than Grace had ever remembered.
Mandy’s chin quivered when Mary Beth put her arm around her. “Now, honey-girl, you just remember how much your mamma loves you. Always has.”
“And always will,” added Lavina.
Mandy nodded tearfully. But her eyes asked the question they all were thinking: Then why would she leave?
Lavina took some old rags out of the cupboard. “We’ve got work to do.”
Grace reached a hand to Mandy. “Mamma always said to work hard when things are troubling, ain’t so?”
Mandy nodded and followed dutifully, dabbing at her nose with a hankie. And at that moment, Grace felt as if she’d wholly taken over her mother’s place, uncomfortable though it was.
Around ten-thirty, Grace and the other women stopped washing and sweeping and began cooking the noon meal. Earlier, Grace had laid out three pounds of lean ground beef to thaw—meat they’d purchased from the Stoltzfus cousins. She planned to make porcupine meatballs using Mamma’s pressure cooker. Mandy set to peeling potatoes, and Mary Beth and Lavina brought up canned vegetables—asparagus, corn, and beets—from the cold cellar.
Secret, The Page 13
