Minutes later, Duane knocked on the door. Susan rushed down to greet him.
As she led him up the stairs, he said, “Wow, something sure smells good!”
“It’s a roast. I hope you’re hungry!”
“Of course,” he said. “I can’t wait.”
“I have just a bit more to do. I’m afraid I got delayed.”
“Did you burn something and have to start over?” he teased.
Susan burst out laughing. “Do you think Amish women burn their meals?”
“No, but my mother often did. She wasn’t Amish though. Late dinners at our house usually meant Mom burned something.”
“Why don’t you have a seat while I finish?”
“So what happened?” he asked, pulling up a chair.
Susan turned to the stove and drained the potatoes. “Well, a thief stole my purse, and I chased him down,” she said with a grin, glancing over her shoulder.
“What?” he said, standing up.
“You don’t believe me?” she asked, turning toward him. “I know it wasn’t very Amish of me, but I couldn’t afford to lose that purse. Besides, I’m trying to not be Amish.”
“I guess I believe you,” he said scratching his head. “I would have loved to be there to help out.”
“Well, thanks,” she said as she mashed the potatoes. “But someone else did the honors.” She told him the whole story, including her visit to Teresa’s and concluded with, “Ta-da! Supper is ready!”
“Wow, everything looks good—really good,” he said.
Susan shrugged. “What can I say? Amish women know how to cook!”
They sat at the table and bowed their heads for prayer. Afterward, Susan passed him the potatoes, waiting until he had taken a large scoop before handing him the gravy bowl.
“Will you please slice the roast?” she asked.
“I’d be honored,” he said with a slight bow and smile.
He placed a slice of roast on her plate and then on his own.
She watched him eat out of the corner of her eye. Curious, she finally asked, “Is the food okay?”
“Oh, it’s excellent!” he said as he helped himself to more roast.
Susan continued to watch as Duane focused on enjoying the meal. When he finally pushed his plate a few inches toward the middle of the table and let out a contented sigh, Susan said, “Pecan pie? With ice cream?”
“Dessert too?” he asked with wide eyes.
Duane with wide eyes over food? He’s never looked that excited about food. Not at fancy restaurants, not at the bakery. But he is about my cooking! She was grinning from ear to ear.
Suddenly and to Susan’s surprise, Duane said, “I’m just too full. It must be the wholesomeness of your cooking. I really need to go. I don’t want to keep you up late when you have to get up early for work at the bakery.”
“It’s not late. You don’t have to rush off,” she said.
“Thanks, Susan,” he said as he got up. “It’s been a great evening. Maybe we can do this again sometime.”
“O–okay,” she said, still in shock. She followed him down the stairs.
He opened the door. “Goodnight” was all he said before he turned and disappeared under the dim light of the street lamps.
Susan locked the door and climbed the stairs again. She sat down at the kitchen table and buried her head in her hands. What went wrong? Duane even forgot to help me with math—and that was the reason for his coming over in the first place. First Thomas and now Duane…
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
Menno Hostetler walked in from the barn, the evening sky already darkening behind him. Low thunderclouds were rolling in from the northeast. He paused to smell the air, remembering that his Englisha neighbor had said rain was coming. This could just as easily be snow, he decided. Winter isn’t far away. Miriam and Joe were coming for Thanksgiving dinner today—a gut thing. He was pleased though tired. He shouldn’t have been plowing all day yesterday, but someone had to do the work. Renting the place might be an option come spring, but what he really wanted for the farm was new blood and a fresh pair of hands. Someone who would own the place, not a renter whose heart came and left when his lease was up.
Menno let the screen door slam behind him, the report echoing in the washroom. He ran water into the sink. His hands were soaped by the time the hot water arrived. With a sigh, he rinsed them and wiped them dry. He looked at them. They were old hands now. The skin was wrinkled, showing the years of hard work. Did not the Holy Scripture say that a man’s days were few and full of trouble? They had seemed few, and they were still full of trouble. Susan was seeing to that. But he shouldn’t blame her, he supposed. He hadn’t always lived his life the best way either.
“Are you coming in?” Anna called from the kitchen.
“Yah!” he hollered back, pushing open the kitchen door.
“I want you to read Susan’s letter again,” Anna said.
“You told me what’s in it,” he said.
Anna bustled about, putting the last touches on their Thanksgiving fare spread out on the table. “A fresh set of eyes might see something I haven’t. And Joe and Miriam are coming any minute. Perhaps they would have some advice. We can’t just bury this problem in the sand any longer, Menno. You know that.”
“Okay.” He got up. “Where’s the letter?”
“On the desk,” she said.
He took the letter to his old rocker and lowered his weary body down. Pulling the single piece of paper out of the envelope, he unfolded it.
Susan’s handwriting was still beautiful, a graceful cursive that lifted off the lines to descend again in perfect harmony. He shook his head, rubbing his eyes with the back of his hand.
Dear Mamm and Daett,
Greetings in the name of the Lord.
I hope this finds you well, and that little Jonas fully recovered from his hog bites. That was quite a terrible thing to have happen. I called Edna’s phone shack afterward using a cell phone I borrowed. Since I haven’t heard anything more by now, I assume his recovery is coming along well.
Life here at the bakery goes on as usual. I get up at four each morning—conditioned from the years on the farm I suppose—to help with the baking. Laura seems satisfied with my help, and I am able to save a little money. Not much, but some.
I am writing this letter with a strange request, but I promised Teresa that I would ask. She is a young, unwed woman I met in the shop. She came up to me the other day and asked if I would adopt her child. Yes, Teresa is with child. She has apparently become very enamored with the Amish life, which she has seen on TV.
Please understand, I did not encourage her in any way. I told her I couldn’t take the child. I mean, how could I? She told me about her life and how desperate she is to have her son have a better life than she has. When I told her I couldn’t take her child, Teresa begged me to ask if there are any Amish couples who would consider adopting him.
I brought Laura into the conversation, and she suggested that the local Crisis Pregnancy Center could find an Englisha couple who would be willing to adopt the baby. Teresa, though, is quite determined that her child go to an Amish home.
Would you consider asking around to see if anyone is willing to adopt the child? I’m not sure exactly how such things are done, but let me assure you that Teresa is sound of mind. It’s her living condition that is bad. I know because I visited the apartment where she and her mom live.
I am adding my own plea to this request, especially since I have the story from both Teresa and her mother. Anyone who would be interested in the child can write to me for more details. I suppose the baby would have to be picked up here, as this is where the adoption would have to be done.
Thanks so much for your consideration, and much love.
Your daughter, Susan
Menno folded the letter and slid it back into the envelope. He rocked slowly, stroking his chest-length beard.
“Well, what do you think?” Anna asked, com
ing in from the kitchen to take a seat on the couch.
“I don’t know,” he said. “It doesn’t make much sense. Susan would still have to sign the adoption papers if she’s the mother. And our people would learn of this thing then.”
“It wouldn’t be as bad as admitting it up front.” She watched his face. “I’m afraid it makes way too much sense.”
“No, I don’t think so,” he said.
“So what is Susan up to then?”
He shrugged. “I’m not sure I agree with your conclusion.”
“Well, it’s true we can’t tell just from reading her letter. But you have to admit this would explain an awful lot of things. Like why an Amish girl would just up and rush off to the Englisha world like Susan did.”
“You shouldn’t jump to conclusions, Anna,” he insisted.
“I don’t think I am, Menno,” she said. “I try not to think ill of her, but when something makes too much sense, I just have to believe it. Look at us. We never picked up on any problems she was having with Thomas. Everything between them was going fine, and the wedding was planned for next year. Then boom! it flies apart.”
“But Susan wouldn’t do anything like that,” he said.
“You’re forgetting that people can fall, Menno. Any of us can. This is the only way it makes any sense.”
“Everything might make sense—but Susan wouldn’t do something like this. She doesn’t lie,” he said.
“Then what should we do? Do you think we should do what she asks and see if anyone wants to adopt this baby?”
“Can you think of anyone who might want a child?” he asked.
“No. And you know what they will think. It doesn’t take much to arrive at the same conclusion I did. And that would drag Thomas into this. He might never be able to clear his name, even if Susan comes home without the child. People might think she let the child go to Englisha parents. No, once we ask around as she asks, we’re going to open her—and Thomas—up to gossip and rumors.”
“You don’t think Susan has thought of this?” he asked.
“She can be a little rattlebrained sometimes. You know that, Menno. Even if she’s your favorite daughter.”
“I never tried to have favorites,” he said.
“I know. And I hate to accuse her, Menno. Oh, how I wish we would have placed more pressure on her to stay home after her kafuffle with Thomas. Da Hah, forgive us. I thought a little time away might do her good. Who would have thought it would lead to this? If Susan had stayed here, we could have borne the shame together. Or married them off this year before she showed.”
“You did the best you knew.” He stood. “And I did too. We have to pray about this.”
“Then you’re not going to ask Miriam and Joe about it?” she asked as they heard a buggy rattle in the lane.
“I don’t know,” he said.
“It might help if they knew.” Her eyes pleaded. “The load is almost more than I can bear.”
Menno nodded and went out to greet his daughter and son-in-law.
“Howdy!” he said to young Jonas, lifting the boy’s hat and ruffling his hair as he jumped out of the buggy. “Have you got that hog-bit hand all better by now?”
“Pretty much!” Jonas rotated his hand for Menno to see.
“Nice scars,” Menno said with another pat on the head of his grandson.
“Now, don’t encourage him,” Miriam said, climbing down from the buggy and turning to take the baby from Joe. “He’ll be wanting more scars if you praise him,” she said, facing her daett again.
“No more scars!” Jonas said. “It hurts too much to get them.”
“See, he’s learning fast,” Menno said, holding the buggy shafts as Joe got off the buggy, undid the tugs, and led the horse forward.
Menno walked ahead of Joe to the barn, dropped the buggy shafts, and then walked to the door and pushed it open. A sudden wind blast made Menno grab his hat.
“You think snow’s coming?” Joe asked as he led his horse inside.
“They said there would be rain, but it smells like snow to me,” Menno said, waiting by the barn door while Joe secured the horse. As they walked toward the house, they leaned into the wind, holding on to their hats.
“Kind of sudden, those storm clouds,” Menno said, when they arrived at the shelter of the porch. “It’ll probably blow through quick enough.”
“I hope so. I have to get back in the fields tomorrow,” Joe said, washing his hands at the sink and then drying them. “Are you caught up with your plowing?”
“No,” Menno said.
Joe opened the door into the kitchen and entered, Menno close behind him. They took their seats at the table, Menno at the head. Jonas and the other children were already waiting at the table, the younger ones wiggling in their seats.
When the two women had the last hot dish on the table, they pulled chairs out and sat down. Menno led the prayer in German. When he was finished, Anna and Miriam passed the food around, keeping an eye on the children. Two-year-old Mandy banged her spoon, scooping the mashed potatoes straight into her mouth without waiting for the gravy.
“She’s hungry!” Jonas said, laughing at his sister. “She doesn’t know any better.”
“I guess she likes her mashed potatoes without gravy,” Miriam said. “Babies are that way sometimes.”
“She’s not a baby,” Jonas said. “Nancy’s the baby.”
“Just eat!” Joe ordered.
Jonas nodded and stopped his flow of words with food.
When they finished, Anna brought out pumpkin pie from the cupboard, sliding two round pans on the table. “Freshly made yesterday,” she said. “Jonas, would you like a piece?”
“A big piece!” he said, grinning from ear to ear.
Anna cut one for him and slid it onto his plate. He wolfed it down but savored each bite, his face aglow with pleasure.
Miriam beamed at Jonas. “Now all we need is a rub on the stomach, and we’ll have a big boy.”
“They grow up fast enough.” Anna’s voice was tinged with sadness.
“I know.” Miriam glanced at her mother. Both of them fell silent as Menno and Joe took the conversation toward farm work and the expected nasty weather.
When everyone was done with their pie, Menno led in prayer again. The chairs scraped the hardwood floor as they got up. Joe and Menno headed for the living room, taking the children with them. Miriam and Anna began cleaning the kitchen.
“Miriam, we have something we need to talk about,” Anna whispered above the soft clink of dishes.
“Just us two?”
“No, with the menfolk too.”
“Then it must be serious, Mamm.”
“I’m afraid so,” Anna answered, her washcloth busy.
“Does it have to do with Susan?”
Anna nodded.
Miriam fell silent.
When they finished, Anna led Miriam into the living room, picking up the letter on the desk before taking a seat on the couch.
“Here.” She handed the letter to Miriam.
Miriam read the letter and passed it on to Joe.
Menno rocked, his eyes on the blast of the storm outside the window. It had begun snowing, little spits driving against the panes.
“Is this what I think it is?” Miriam asked. “I can’t think that Susan and Thomas would do such a thing.”
Anna kept her eyes on the floor. “I wish we didn’t even have to speak of this.”
“You certainly can’t ask around like she wants you to,” Miriam said. “It would always stick in people’s minds, even if Susan should prove to be innocent.”
“So what can we do?” Anna asked.
“I think we should trust Susan,” Menno said.
“What do you think?” Anna asked Joe, who had just finished reading the letter.
“I agree with Menno,” Joe said. “It’s not gut to think bad of people, even if they have done wrong. In this case, we don’t know.”
“You are bo
th being soft on her,” Miriam said. “You forget that any of us can fall.”
“We must not blame Susan and Thomas for this,” Menno said. “I forbid it, no matter how things might appear.”
Joe scratched his head, “Well, I think I know what we could do. It would solve this without offending anyone.”
“Really?” Anna said. “Please tell us.”
“You could write her back and tell her you don’t think anyone would be interested in adoption, but that she is welcome to bring this Teresa girl here. The girl could be away from her old life for a time and eventually find an Englisha family—a good solid Christian family—who would take the child.”
After a pause to think, Anna asked, “Would you do that, Menno? Would you allow the girl into our home—if there is such a girl?”
“If she’s Susan’s friend, then she’s our friend,” he said. “I think Joe has spoken great wisdom. I would have done well to think of anything better.”
“But she comes from the city…if there really is this girl,” Anna said.
“We must believe that Da Hah has His reasons for everything,” Menno said. “Are you thinking this solution also is a way to bring our Susan home again? If she has not told us the truth, I know of no better place than home to make confessions and begin over again.”
“I will write her tomorrow then,” Anna said. “Susan can let the girl know she is welcome to come. Perhaps there is a reason for all of this after all.”
They nodded and turned to watch the storm blow and listen to the sound of the children playing upstairs.
CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE
Susan eyed the space between the two vehicles, straining to look over her shoulder. She had Robby’s car stopped at an angle on the empty side street.
Who on earth had ever invented parallel parking!
What had started as a wonderful Thanksgiving celebration earlier in the day was quickly turning to frustration.
After the sumptuous turkey feast, Robby had insisted today would be a great day for another lesson.
Missing Your Smile Page 23
