“My wife, Doris, is coming in for some gas soon, and since we live just off Highway C, she plans to stop by an Amish farm out that way and buy some fresh eggs,” Ed said. “I’m sure she’d be more than happy to give you a lift.”
Faith wondered which Amish family from her community was selling eggs. Could it be Mama or one of her sisters? “If your wife is willing to give us a ride, it would be most appreciated,” she said.
“Don’t think it’ll be a problem. Nope, not a problem at all.” Ed grinned at her, revealing a set of badly stained, crooked teeth. “You can wait here inside the store if you want to.”
“It might be best if we waited outside,” Faith replied. “I wouldn’t want to miss your wife.”
“Suit yourself.”
Faith led Melinda outside, and they took a seat on the bench near the front door. “You’ll be meeting your Grandpa and Grandma Stutzman soon,” she said, smiling at Melinda, whose eyes darted back and forth as she sat stiffly on the bench.
Melinda’s nose twitched. “Somethin’ smells funny. I don’t know if I’m gonna like it here.”
“That’s the way farms smell, Melinda. We’re in the country now.”
Melinda folded her arms but said nothing more.
A short time later, a red station wagon pulled up to the pumps, and Ed came out of the building and proceeded to fill the tank with gas. When he was done, he said something to the dark-haired, middle-aged woman sitting in the vehicle. After a few minutes, he motioned for Faith and Melinda to come over. “This here’s my wife, Doris, and she’s agreed to give you a ride.” Before Faith could respond, Ed opened the back of the station wagon and deposited their suitcases inside.
“I appreciate this, and I’ll be happy to pay you,” Faith said to Doris as she and Melinda climbed into the backseat of the vehicle.
“No need for that,” Doris said with a wave of her hand. “Ed and I live out that way anyhow.”
“Thank you.” Faith tucked her daughter’s white cotton blouse under the band of her blue jeans; then she buckled the child’s seatbelt just as Doris pulled her vehicle out of the parking lot.
Melinda pressed her nose to the window as the station wagon headed down Highway C. “Look at all the farms. There’s so many animals!”
“Yep, lots of critters around here,” Doris chimed in.
Faith reached over and patted Melinda’s knee. “Your grandma and grandpa have all kinds of animals you’ll soon get to know.”
Melinda made no comment, and Faith wondered what her little girl was thinking. Would her daughter find joy in the things on the farm, or would she become restless and bored, the way Faith had? She hoped Melinda would adjust to the new surroundings and respond well to her grandparents and other family members.
Closing her eyes, Faith leaned into the seat and tried to relax. She would deal first with seeing her folks and then worry about how well Melinda would adjust. She only had the strength to work through one problem at a time.
Twenty minutes later, they pulled into the gravel driveway of her parents’ farm. Faith opened the car door and stepped out. Letting her gaze travel around the yard, she was amazed at how little it had changed. Everything looked nearly the same as the day she’d left home. The house was still painted white. The front porch sagged on one end, the way it had for as long as Faith could remember. Dark shades hung at each of the windows.
A wagonload of steel milk cans was parked out by the garden, and two open buggies sat near the barn. Her folks’ mode of transportation was obviously the same as it always had been. Even as a child, Faith had never understood why their district drove only open buggies. Traveling in such a way could be downright miserable when the weather turned cold and snowy. She’d heard it said that the Webster County Amish were one of the strictest in their beliefs of the Plain communities in America. Seeing her parents’ simple home again made her believe this statement must be true.
Faith noticed something else. A dark gray, closed-in buggy was parked on one side of the house. How strange it looked. Her mind whirled with unanswered questions. I wonder whose it could be. Unless the rules around here have changed, it surely doesn’t belong to Papa.
“Is this the place?” Melinda asked, tugging on Faith’s hand.
She looked down at her daughter, so innocent and wide-eyed. “Yes, Melinda. This is where I grew up. Shall we go see if anyone’s home?”
Melinda nodded, although her dubious expression left little doubt of the child’s concerns.
Once more, Faith offered to pay Doris, but the smiling woman waved her away. “No need for that. I was heading this way anyhow. So I’ll be off to get my eggs over at the Troyers’ place.”
Faith thanked Doris, grabbed their suitcases, and gulped in another breath of air. It was time to face the music.
Chapter 2
Faith had only made it to the first saggy step of the front porch when the door swung open. Her mother, Wilma Stutzman, stepped out, and a little girl not much older than Melinda followed. In some ways, Mama looked the same as when Faith had left home, yet she was different. Hair that used to be blond like spun gold was now dingy and graying. Skin that had once been smooth and soft showed signs of wrinkles and dryness. Mama’s face looked tired and drawn, and her blue eyes, offset by metal-framed glasses, held no sparkle as they once had.
“Can I help you with something?” her mother asked, looking at Faith as though she were a stranger.
Faith stepped all the way onto the porch, bringing Melinda with her. “Mama, it’s me.”
The older woman eyed Faith up and down, and her mouth dropped open. Then her gaze came to rest on Melinda, who was clinging to Faith’s hand as though her young life hung in the balance.
“Faith?” Mama squeaked. “After all these years, is—is it really you?”
Faith nodded as tears stung the backs of her eyes. It was good to see her mother again. She hoped Mama felt the same.
When Mama stepped forward and gave Faith a hug, Faith nearly broke down in tears. Despite the resentment she’d carried in her heart for the last ten years, she had missed seeing her family.
“This is my daughter, Mama. Melinda’s six years old.” Faith gave the child’s hand a gentle squeeze. “Say hello to your grandma Stutzman.”
“Hello, Grandma.” Melinda’s voice was barely above a whisper.
Mama’s pale eyebrows lifted in obvious surprise, but she offered Melinda a brief smile. Her brows drew together as she looked back at Faith. “I didn’t even know you were married, much less had a child. Where have you been these last ten years, daughter?”
Faith swallowed hard as she formulated her response. “I followed my dream, Mama.”
“What dream? You ran off the day you turned eighteen, leaving only a note on the kitchen table saying you were going to become part of the English world.”
“My dream was to use my yodeling skills and joke telling to entertain folks. My husband, Greg, made that happen, and I’ve been on the road entertaining for quite a spell now.”
Mama’s eyes glistened with unshed tears. “It broke your daed’s and my heart when you left home, Faith. Don’t you know that?”
“I—I did what I felt was right for me at the time.” Faith dropped her gaze to the slanting porch. “Greg was killed six months ago when a car hit him.” No point telling Mama that her husband had been drinking when he’d stepped in front of the oncoming vehicle. Mama would probably think Faith also drank liquor and then give a stern lecture on the evils of strong drink. Faith had endured enough reprimands during her teen years, even being blamed for some things she hadn’t done.
“I’m sorry about your husband.” Mama’s voice sounded sincere. Maybe she did care a little bit.
Feeling the need to change the subject, Faith nodded at the gray, closed-in buggy sitting out in the yard. “Mind if I ask who that belongs to?”
“Vernon Miller, the buggy maker. He’s out in the barn with your daed.”
“Does that mean th
e Webster County Amish are allowed to drive closed-in buggies now?”
Mama shook her head. “Vernon built the Lancaster-style carriage for an English man who lives out in Oregon. The fellow owns a gift shop where he sells Amish-made items. Guess he decided having a real buggy in front of his place would be good for business.” She lifted her shoulders in a brief shrug. “Vernon wanted to test-drive it before he completed the order and had it sent off.”
“I see.”
Faith was going to say more, but the young girl with light brown hair and dark eyes who stood beside Mama spoke up. “Do I know these people, Mamm?”
Mamm? Faith felt a jolt of electricity zip through her body. Was the child hanging on to Mama’s long blue dress Faith’s sister? Had Mama given birth to a baby sometime after Faith left home? Did that mean Faith had three sisters now instead of two? She could even have more than four brothers and not know it.
“Susie, this is your big sister,” Mama said to the girl. “And her daughter’s your niece.”
Susie stood gaping at Faith as though she had done something horribly wrong. Was it her worldly attire of blue jeans and a pink T-shirt that bothered the girl? Could it have been the long French braid Faith wore down her back? Or was the child as surprised as Faith was over the news that each of them had a sister they knew nothing about?
“So what are you doing here?” Mama asked, nodding at Faith.
“I—I was wondering if Melinda and I could stay with you.” Faith held her breath and awaited her mother’s answer. Would she and Melinda be welcomed or turned away?
“Here? With us?” Mama’s voice had raised at least an octave, and her eyes, peering through her glasses, were as huge as saucers.
Faith nodded.
“As English or Amish?”
Her mother’s direct question went straight to Faith’s heart. If she told the truth—that she wanted her daughter to be Amish and she would pretend to be until she was ready to leave—the door would probably be slammed in her face.
Faith nibbled on her lower lip as she considered her response. She had to be careful. It wouldn’t be good to reveal her true plans until the time was right. “I. . .uh. . .am willing to return to the Amish way of life.”
“And you’ll speak to Bishop Jacob Martin before you attend church with us in the morning?”
Faith gulped. She hadn’t expected to speak with the bishop on her first day home. She’d probably be subjected to a long lecture about worldliness or maybe told that she must be baptized into the church before she would be fully accepted.
Melinda tugged her hand. “Are we gonna stay here, Mama?”
“I—I hope so.” They couldn’t be turned away. They had no place to go but back on the road, and Faith was through dragging Melinda all over creation. It wasn’t good for a child to live out of a suitcase, never knowing from week to week where she would lay her head at night. Melinda should attend school in the fall, and she needed a stable environment.
“Will you speak with Jacob Martin or not?” Mama asked again.
Faith gritted her teeth and gave one quick nod. She would keep up the pretense that she planned to stay for as long as it was necessary.
Mama stepped aside and held the screen door open. “Come inside then.”
Wilma’s legs felt like two sticks of rubber as she motioned Faith and her daughter to follow her into the kitchen. As each year had passed without a word from her oldest daughter, she’d become more convinced that she would never see Faith again. But now Faith was home and had brought her daughter with her—a grandchild Wilma had known nothing about. Did Faith plan to stay, or would she be off and running again as soon as she felt the least bit discontent?
“Who was at the door, Mama?” Grace Ann, Wilma’s seventeen-year-old daughter, asked as they stepped into the kitchen.
Wilma motioned first to Faith and then to the child who clung to her mother’s hand with a wide-eyed expression. “Your big sister’s come home, and this is her daughter, Melinda.”
Grace Ann’s mouth opened wide, and she nearly dropped the plates she held in her hands. “Faith?”
Faith nodded, but before she could say anything, fourteen-year-old Esther, who had been placing silverware on the table, spoke. “Mama, is this the disobedient sister you told us about who ran off to the English world so she could yodel and tell silly jokes whenever she wanted?”
Wilma could only nod in response. When Faith had left home at the tender age of eighteen, Grace Ann had been seven, and Esther had just turned four. If not for Wilma telling the girls about Faith and her desire to be an entertainer, she was sure they wouldn’t even have remembered that they’d had an older sister.
Esther eyed Faith up and down. “Did you come here for a visit, or are you home to stay?”
Faith shifted from one foot to another, looking like a bird that had been trapped between the paws of a hungry cat. “I brought Melinda home and”—she paused and moistened her lips with the tip of her tongue—“we’re. . .uh. . .here for more than just a visit.”
Grace Ann set the plates on the table and scurried across the room. “It’s good to have you home, sister,” she said, giving Faith a hug. “Papa and the others will sure be surprised.” She patted Melinda on her head. “How old are you?”
“I’m six,” the child replied.
“Just a year younger than Susie.” Grace Ann glanced around the room. “Where is our little sister, anyway?”
Wilma’s brows knitted together as she turned to look behind her. She thought Susie had been with them when they’d headed for the kitchen. “Esther, would you run upstairs and see if Susie went to her room?”
Esther hesitated as she looked over at Faith.
“She’ll still be here when you get back,” Wilma said with a wave of her hand.
“Okay.” Esther scampered out of the room.
Faith smiled, although it appeared to be forced. Wasn’t she happy to be home and seeing her family again?
Wilma motioned to the table. “If you’d like to have a seat, we can visit while I finish getting supper on.”
“Isn’t there something I can do to help?” Faith asked.
“Grace Ann and Esther have the table almost set, and the stew I’m making is nearly done.” Wilma released a soft grunt. “You can start helping tomorrow with breakfast.”
Faith pulled out a chair. Once she was seated, she hoisted her daughter into her lap, and the child snuggled against Faith’s chest. “How are my brothers doing?” Faith asked. “I imagine they’re pretty big by now.”
Before Wilma could reply, Grace Ann spoke up. “John’s courting a woman named Phoebe.” She chuckled and waved her hand like she was swatting at a fly. “Course, he’s been kind of sneaky about it, and I’m sure he thinks we don’t know what’s up.”
“I remember when John was a boy he always kept things to himself.” Faith glanced over at Wilma. “And how is Brian now?”
“He says he’s still looking for the right woman.” Wilma moved over to the stove and lifted the lid on the pot of stew. A curl of steam rushed up, and she drew in a deep breath, savoring the delicious, sagelike aroma. “Your older brothers, James and Philip, are both married. They each have four kinner of their own, and they’ve recently moved their families up north near Jamesport.”
“How come?” Faith asked.
“Neither one likes to farm, and there’s more work available for them.”
Faith released a sigh. “I can’t believe how much has changed since I left home.”
Wilma resisted the temptation to tell Faith that if she had stayed home the way she should have and not run after a worldly dream, she would have been part of that change and things wouldn’t seem so strange to her.
Several minutes later, Esther returned to the kitchen without her little sister. “Susie wasn’t in her room, Mama. I don’t know where she could be.”
“Maybe she went outside,” Grace Ann suggested.
Wilma was about to tell Esther to go o
ut and check, when the back door swung open and Susie rushed into the room, followed by Wilma’s husband, Menno, and their two youngest sons.
“Susie said Faith has come home.” Menno’s face was red, and he huffed as if he’d been running and was out of breath. “Is it true?”
Faith set her daughter on the floor and stood. “Yes, Papa, I’m here.” She motioned to the child. “This is my daughter, Melinda—your granddaughter.”
Menno looked down at Melinda, and his forehead creased, but he didn’t comment. He just stood there, staring at the child.
“Susie told us that your husband died and that’s why you and your daughter have come here to live.” John stepped forward. “It’s good to see you, sister. Welcome home.”
“Jah,” Brian said with a nod. “We’ve missed you all these years.”
“I–I’ve missed you, too.”
Menno cleared his throat loudly. “Where have you been all this time, Faith, and what have you been doing?”
“She’s been yodeling and telling jokes for English folks in places like Branson,” John said before Faith could respond. “Not long ago, I saw her picture in one of them flyers advertising shows at Branson.” He glanced over at his father. “Remember when I told you and Mama about it?”
Menno mumbled something Wilma couldn’t quite understand as he ambled across the room toward the sink. She waited until he had washed and dried his hands, then she motioned to the table and said, “Supper’s ready now, so why don’t we all find our places? While we’re eating, Faith can answer everyone’s questions.”
Chapter 3
Faith cringed as her family joined her and Melinda at the table. She didn’t want to answer anyone’s questions. Truth be told, she didn’t really want to be here, but bringing Melinda to live with her folks was the only way she knew to give her daughter a stable home.
You had a stable home once, and you left it, a little voice niggled at the back of Faith’s mind. She shook her head, trying to clear away the disturbing thoughts. She had to stay focused on her goal for Melinda.
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