“Did I tell you John Hershberger is picking me up for the party?” Belinda’s cheeks flushed.
“So, you two are courting! And you didn’t tell me?” Rochelle threw the dishtowel at Belinda’s head. “I knew you’d been giggling and looking at him at youth meetings for months now.”
Belinda ducked. “No, silly. We’re not courting. Yet. I’m sure we will be soon.”
For the past few months, all Rochelle had heard was John Hershberger this and John Hershberger that. Rochelle had been tuning her best friend out, because her college studies had kept her busy. Too busy for many of the activities the young adults participated in at Hope Mennonite Church.
However, one meeting not long ago had captured her attention. A missionary group, visiting from overseas, told them all about the great need for workers. Teachers. Doctors. Nurses. Pilots.
At the word nurse, Rochelle’s ears had perked up higher than the ears on her father’s dog, Patches. She was already studying hard for her nursing degree at their local college.
“There is great need here in the United States for good nurses and nursing care, but all members of the medical field are needed in Africa, especially in developing countries and where the gospel isn’t always welcome,” the speaker had said.
“Anyway,” Belinda continued, “John said his best friend, Silas Fry, is riding along with him. You should come, too. We can all ride to the party together.”
Daring, riding together, just the four of them in a vehicle.
Rochelle adjusted her kapp, then smoothed her apron. “I know Silas Fry.”
Well, knew him in a roundabout way. Silas was the kind of young man everyone noticed. The other young men all liked to be his friend. The other young women liked to smile at him, and the boldest struck up conversation. They’d grown up together and participated in the same youth group, but in the last couple of years, childhood friendships had changed into something different as couples began to pair off.
Rochelle had spoken to Silas recently, entirely by accident. She’d gone up to him, thinking he looked like her cousin from behind and called him by her cousin’s name. He swung around, with laughter in his eyes and she felt a tug of awareness in their blueness reminding her of a happy summer sky.
“No, I’m not Levi,” he’d said. “I hope you’re not disappointed.”
“No, I’m not.” She choked out the three words as her face flamed all sorts of hot. Belinda would tease her, probably as much as she’d teased Belinda about her budding romance with John Hershberger.
But nothing was budding with Silas Fry. She’d tried to keep herself from noticing him, because other young women couldn’t help but notice him. However, from this moment, she didn’t think she’d ever succeed at pretending not to notice Silas Fry, ever again.
2
No sooner had Silas turned off the van’s engine and unbuckled his seat belt did the self-appointed Pinecraft neighborhood welcoming committee arrive.
Lena sprang from the van while Matthew groaned his way out of the back seat and opened the side door. Silas wanted to do a bit of springing or groaning himself—exactly which one, he wasn’t sure. Instead, he calmly pulled the keys from the ignition and left the vehicle to meet the Old Order Amish man standing in his driveway.
“You’re Silas Fry,” the man said, extending his hand. They shook. “I’m Aaron Lapp.”
“Nice to meet you. My children, Lena and Matthew.” Lena and Matthew joined Silas on his side of the van.
“I heard you were moving in. If you need anything, I’m either here at the house or at the park or having a cuppa over at Yoder’s.”
“Thank you.”
“I let the others on the street know you were coming.” Aaron glanced over his shoulder. “There’s not much to do right now in the village, so we’re grateful you’re here to cause a bit of commotion.”
Silas wasn’t hoping to cause any kind of commotion, but the gleam in Aaron’s eye made him smile. “I’m glad we’re helping break up the monotony.”
“We don’t have a whole lot of young people here, not like you’d find back in Ohio. Leastwise, not until winter, anyway.”
“I don’t mind.” Lena nodded. “I’m planning to start college later this summer, so I’ll be busy.”
“Ah, I see.”
“Here we are, Aaron,” said another Old Order daadi-type of fellow, the wisps of his long white beard drifting on the breeze. “The bus from Indiana is late.”
A trio of older men joined the first two, while several gray-haired women in kapps bustled around them, murmuring about not to worry, they’d bring the Frys some supper, and did they have fresh linens on hand, and one of their grown children and family had stayed in the same apartment for an entire winter and found the space comfortable and easy to clean with its tiled floors, and they were sure Mr. Fry would find the place ideal for him and his children. Silas’s head almost spun from the chatter.
The older men spoke to Matthew, assuring him more people his age would visit during the winter months, but there were a few Amish and Mennonite families with kinner his age who lived nearby, and likely they’d see each other at Sunday church meetings.
Silas nodded. “We’re going to attend the Mennonite services at the local church.”
“Ah, gut services. Gut people,” said the man with the wispy white beard. “My wife always goes to their quilt show every year.”
“Yes, yes, I do,” said a matron with hair color almost matching her white head covering. “I just finished a quilt last week from one of the quilt tops I bought at this year’s show. Do you quilt?” she asked, addressing Lena.
“No.”
“Well, you should come to my home sometime, and we can all teach you.”
“Ah, well, I don’t—”
Silas cut Lena a warning look. His daughter’s tongue had gotten her into trouble more than once in Ohio. Pinecraft might be a bit more liberal than some Plain communities, but still, respect always served someone well, no matter where they lived.
Lena sputtered. “I’m not good at hand quilting. I do sew clothing by machine, though, and can alter clothing by hand. But I’m afraid I’ll be busy with classes this fall.”
“She’s going to be a medical assistant someday,” Silas interjected.
The older women nodded. After more introductions and comparisons of family trees (everyone seemed to know Silas’s Uncle Tobias, which didn’t surprise Silas), the group all pitched in and soon had unloaded the contents of the van, along with the larger household items in the small rented trailer.
“We’ll be back soon, with food,” said the older matron, who’d introduced herself as Wanda Mullet. “You must all be hungry after a long trip.”
Silas wanted to find the bed behind stacks of boxes in his room and collapse onto the crisp, freshly laundered sheets, but he knew bedtime would be a while in coming.
At last, the welcoming committee left them, and a large pan of chicken pot pie, a bowl of marinated vegetable salad, homemade cole slaw, a bag of rolls—from Yoder’s market—and two pies, one apple and one peanut butter cream, covered Silas’s kitchen counter.
“We know there’s only three of you, but we couldn’t agree on which pie to give you, so you get both,” Wanda said before she left. “Besides, you can never have too much dessert.”
The three of them ate, with Lena and Matthew holding a conversation about Lena’s lack of quilting skills, and Matthew’s wondering if he’d see a real live alligator in nearby Phillippi Creek.
The banter buoyed Silas’s spirits and by the end of the meal, he found himself suggesting they take a walk through the village so they could see the neighborhood better and find Uncle Tobias and Aunt Frances’s home. Uncle Tobias had had a root canal today; Aunt Frances a migraine. Otherwise, the pair would have stopped by the house already.
A walk would also be a fine chance to stretch their legs after being cooped up in the van for so long, as well as an opportunity to meet more of the people.
And maybe see Rochelle?
Of course, he’d see Rochelle. Maybe not today, or tomorrow. But sometime, somewhere here in Pinecraft’s sunny streets. Or, maybe at church.
Silas knew he’d be walking headlong into the past when he saw Rochelle again. It had been more than twenty years since they’d spoken, when Lena was growing inside Belinda, after the swift wedding.
He never had the chance to explain to Rochelle, and after she left for Florida, he saw no need. Their lives had diverged. Until now.
“Dad?” Lena waved her fork. “Are you ready for pie?”
He looked down at his mostly eaten food. “No, not just yet. Maybe tonight, with a cup of coffee.” The flavorful meal had brought back memories of eating at his grandmother’s table.
Another reason to be here in Pinecraft. His children could see firsthand the myriad ways the Plain people lived, from Mennonites more liberal than they, with women who cut their hair short and wore pants or even shorts, to Old Order Amish who retained their Plain conservatism, although everyone in the village did have electricity.
In a few moments, the children had slipped their shoes back on, and they were strolling south down Graber toward busy four-lane Bahia Vista.
“I need to make an appointment with a counselor at the college soon,” Lena announced when they reached the crosswalk. “They emailed me before we left Ohio and said for me to call as soon as we got to Sarasota.”
“I remember. I don’t think they literally meant as soon as we arrived.”
“Well, you know what I mean. I need to sign up for financial aid and choose my classes.”
“Of course, I know what you meant. Watch your tone.” To some, Lena was merely opinionated. To others, she could sound downright rude.
Maybe it was his and Belinda’s fault. They’d treated the children like small adults for years. The children had witnessed more than most American children, Lena born and raised overseas and Matthew born in Ohio during a furlough and spending his childhood outside the States. To most adults, Lena’s directness, especially for a person her age, wasn’t tolerated like it would be from someone years older.
“I’m sorry, Dad. I’m tired. It’s all—so, so much.” Lena bit her lip. They continued east now, toward the string of buildings on Bahia Vista bearing the Yoder’s sign.
“Yes, a lot has happened. But we’ll get everything done in time. I promise. I don’t start work for another week. We’ll go soon. But not today. Maybe tomorrow.” He gazed up the street ahead of them. Big Olaf’s Ice Cream Parlor lay just ahead. Now visiting the shop was one memory he enjoyed, when he’d step up to the counter, barely able to see over the top of it.
“They have everything we need right here,” Matthew observed. “We never have to leave the neighborhood for anything.”
Across the side street from Big Olaf’s stood several buildings, one of which contained an open-air produce market.
“No, we probably wouldn’t have to.”
The tinny ringing of a small bell sounded as a three-wheeled cycle zipped past with a Mennonite woman on the seat.
“Wow.” Matthew pointed. “A motorized bicycle. That looks fun.”
“Tricycle,” Lena said. “It has three wheels.”
“I know. But it only has two pedals.”
“That’s the fastest way to get around Pinecraft. Your great-uncle will probably help you both get set up with a cycle of some kind, probably not motorized.”
“I want to help him in his shop,” Matthew said.
“We’ll have to see if he needs help.”
They strolled past the giant ice cream cone at Big Olaf’s, and a delightful whiff of something warm drifted on the breeze as they rounded the corner of Kaufman.
“A pizza shop.” Lena rubbed her stomach. “If we hadn’t just eaten, I’d ask if we could stop for some.”
“Another time. Maybe soon, you’ll make some friends about your age in the village.” Silas hoped so, even as he spoke the words. Lena’s forays into friendships had been a bit awkward in Ohio; Matthew’s as well at first. But Matthew seemed to slide right into a few friendships after those moments. Lena, however, he’d found once crying in the bedroom she shared with her cousin.
“I never seem to say the right thing, Dad.” She’d sniffled and scrounged for a tissue, her kapp mussed, her hair springing wild in spite of the hairpins to hold it back.
“Give it time, Lena. You’ll soon meet a good friend, I’m sure. Anyway, isn’t Rachel a good friend?”
“Rachel is my cousin. She has to be my friend.” Lena wiped her eyes and blew her nose. Now, however, she had no tears over her lack of friends. She’d said goodbye to her cousins and left Ohio with dry eyes.
“Maybe, I will meet a good friend. Maybe at the college, too.” Her tone bore the sunny tones of hope. Silas also hoped the attitude, like sunny weather, would last. “Oh, look, a Laundromat. And all the tricycles with little trailers hitched to them.”
Silas glanced at the street corner ahead of them. They’d strolled deeper into the neighborhood, but a few blocks from Pinecraft park, if his memories didn’t fail him. Everything seemed so much—smaller—from when he was a small boy.
A van was pulling out of a wide driveway by the Laundromat, and as it did, its driver negotiated the vehicle deftly around a cluster of cycles.
The driver, a woman, glanced their way as the van crept onto the street.
Her eyes rounded in her face.
Silas had seen the expression before, the same expression she’d worn when he’d first truly noticed her.
Rochelle Keim.
* * *
Silas, 21
He had never looked forward to an old woman’s birthday party until now. Imagine, him, Silas Fry, counting the hours until he and John would head over to celebrate an eighty-year-old woman’s birthday, along with Belinda and Rochelle.
Rochelle Keim.
He’d known her name since they were both youngsters, and with her quiet ways, she’d always blended into the background of life. However, ever since she’d mistaken him for Levi and they’d actually had a grown-up conversation, he hadn’t been able to keep her out of his mind.
And, for the first time, he noticed all the tangible ways she thoughtfully gave her time and energy for others. It appealed to him a lot. Not to mention her expressive eyes, the sheen of her hair in the sunlight. Her soft laugh, like music. She didn’t look skinny like a few of the other girls. Nope, she had curves there, somewhere.
Also, she didn’t seem as impressed with him as some of the other young women did. This bothered him a bit and, yet, intrigued him. And, it was something he wanted to remedy. He wanted Rochelle Keim to admire him.
A honk sounded outside.
“That would be John,” he told his mother as he rose from the living room chair.
“I don’t know why you need to ride with him. We’re going, too.”
“Well, ah, we’re taking Belinda and Rochelle Keim with us.”
“I see. I haven’t spoken to the Keims in a while. They’ve been busy with doctor’s appointments and such.”
“Yes, they have.”
“Well, when you see Rochelle, let her know I’m praying for her mother.”
“I will.”
Honk!
He grabbed his jacket and headed out the front door. The front passenger seat was already occupied by Belinda. A space for him waited in the back. There was Rochelle, beside the empty space.
Silas opened the car’s rear door and slid onto the back seat.
Rochelle smiled. “I can’t wait until you see the birthday cake. It’s magnificent.”
As Silas returned the smile, he realized two things: He wanted to kiss Rochelle Keim, and he also wanted to marry her.
* * *
Rochelle parked the van in the driveway. She turned off the ignition, then clenched her hands into fists to keep them from trembling. But they’d trembled and shook all the way home. She breathed a prayer of thanks she hadn’
t careened into someone’s mailbox on her route through the village.
A pair of bicycles were chained up in the carport. Good, the girls were home after their morning of shopping and wedding planning.
Rochelle wrangled the first of the baskets of laundry from the back of the van. This time, she’d have help unloading again. She maneuvered through the front door.
Winston barked a warning, but his barks ceased and his body commenced a side-to-side wiggle, his tail whipping back and forth. No matter how tired she felt, the red dachshund always managed to make her smile with his antics.
“We found the fabric!” Emma darted into the kitchen from the open living room. She waved a set of swatches dangling from a ring.
Rochelle set down the basket and reached for the samples. “Oh, they’re lovely, and soft, almost silky. Which color have you chosen?”
“All of them.”
“All?”
“We decided to go with rainbow colors for the attendants,” Betsy announced, her cheeks flushed. She bit her lip.
“Rainbow colors. Huh.” Yes, the tropical hues would be lovely for attendant dresses. However, she suspected from Betsy’s expression her great-niece wanted something simpler.
“I like the aquamarine blue the best,” Betsy said. “It reminds me of the Gulf waters.”
“I think all-blue dresses aren’t as nice as rainbow.” Emma frowned. “In Ohio, we’d never be able to use these fabrics, so I want to use them here.”
Rochelle almost gave her opinion, then reminded herself neither young woman had asked for an opinion. “If you two could help me, I have our laundry to bring in.” At last, her hands had quit their trembling. However, her stomach felt as if she’d been out on Steven Hostetler’s fishing charter boat for far too long.
“I’m sorry we stuck you with the laundry, Aenti Chelle,” Betsy said as the three of them went outside.
“Don’t worry about it. I know you both needed to find your fabrics and get them ordered, and we all have clients to see this afternoon. It works out better this way.”
“I think it worked out gut, too.” Emma got to the back of the van first and pulled out the smallest basket. “I hope you can get the washer repaired soon.”
A Promise of Grace Page 2
