“Hullo, Rose Ann,” a cheery voice called to her.
She turned to see Rebekah Bontrager smiling broadly, wearing a plum-colored dress and matching apron. The color made her cheeks look peachier than usual. Rebekah had obviously sewn several new dresses for herself since she’d returned to be a mother’s helper to Annie Mast and her identical twin babies, Mary and Anna. Anymore it felt as though Rebekah had never moved away to Indiana in the first place.
“Wie bischt?” Rebekah asked.
“Just fine . . . you?”
“Busier than ever. The babies are more wakeful now.” Rebekah pushed one Kapp string back over her shoulder. “Annie and I really have our hands full.”
“Does Annie’s mother help some?”
Rebekah nodded. “And Annie’s sisters come over quite often, too.”
Rose wondered how long Rebekah would stay at Masts’. Would she remain there until her wedding to Silas next wedding season?
“Have ya seen any nice dishes—a service for, say, twenty or more?” asked Rebekah, changing the subject.
“Sure, there’s plenty over there.” Rose had contemplated two such patterns for the longest time but wasn’t sure it was a good idea to stock up on a bunch of dishes when she might end up single. However, with the prospect of something happening tomorrow at Mose’s, she wondered if she should’ve purchased the dainty blue, yellow, and green floral service for twenty-five that she’d admired. It was a pattern she had rarely seen and really liked. But purchasing it would be making a real leap of faith, for sure and for certain.
“Denki, Rose . . . I’ll see ya later.” Rebekah meandered past the glass saltshakers and candy dishes, the hem of her dress swishing as she went.
Returning to her browsing, Rose caught sight of a set of eight beautiful teacups and saucers. The bright red roses looked hand painted, which made her heart skip a beat. How she loved dishes, especially ones with brilliant hues. It occurred to her that these might cheer Mamm’s heart after her surgery—plus her birthday was near Valentine’s Day, a day Englischers celebrated with chocolates, fancy cards, and roses.
Rose opened her purse to see if she’d brought enough money. I’ll surprise Mamm, she thought, picking up one of the dainty cups and carrying it to the youngest King girl, Martha King Esh. “Can you tell me anything about these?”
Though Martha had been married for two years, she was close to Rose’s age. “They’re awful perty, ain’t so?” She smiled cheerfully.
“I’ve never seen anything quite like them.”
“Can ya guess where this set came from?” asked Martha.
Rose shook her head.
“They were passed down in the family from the early settlement here—belonged to a distant cousin who left the Big Valley area. I’m sure you’ve heard of Yost Kauffman—maybe your own great-Grossvadder. Look on the back, and you’ll see a date.”
“Yost Kauffman was my great-uncle,” Rose said. So Martha and I are related in some distant way. She looked on the underside of the cup and saw a faded date she couldn’t make out: 1800-something. “Why would ya want to sell them?” she asked, thinking the price should be higher.
“All of us girls already have our own things from our weddings. And there’s just too much here for Mamma to care about or keep up with, ya know. My father wants everything cleared out at this sale.”
Rose wondered if the really bold color of the roses might be another reason. There were no other dishes this striking on display here.
“They’re ever so delicate and nice for having tea.” Martha smiled again. “Whether you’re married or not.”
Martha didn’t mean any harm by her comment, but had Rose been in Martha’s shoes, she would’ve been more tactful. At least she hoped so.
Rose turned the matching saucer in her hand, appreciating its beauty.
“Take your time deciding.” Martha glanced over her shoulder at the many women streaming into the porch, all chatting and smiling and waving at kinfolk.
Rose noticed Rebekah standing over yonder, near the dishes Rose herself had admired earlier. She watched Rebekah to see if she was interested.
“Martha, I’ll take the tea set . . . and possibly some more dishes, too,” Rose said.
As Martha started to wrap one of the teacups in plain brown paper, Rose glanced again at the stack of dishes near Rebekah, wishing she hadn’t pointed them out to Silas’s girlfriend. Rose didn’t feel envious, but she was curious what it was like to be Rebekah. Did she and Silas have a hope of a happy life together—just as Hen and Brandon had seemed to at the outset of their courtship? Years ago, when Hen had first met Brandon, Hen described the butterflies in her stomach whenever Brandon’s eyes met hers. Rose had never forgotten the glow on Hen’s face when she told her this. Nor had Rose herself forgotten the magnetic draw she had felt the times when Nick had surprised her by taking her into his arms.
She shook off the remembrance. No sense clinging to it.
Her thoughts returned to the present as, wonder of wonders, Rebekah moved away from the place settings Rose had her eye on. “Ach . . . sorry, Martha, just a minute.” Rose made her way carefully past the long table to Rebekah Bontrager. “Aren’t ya interested in that dish set?” she asked her.
“Nee—no, the color looks too faded.”
Rose glanced at the dinner plate on top. “I think it’s s’posed to be that way.” She hesitated. “If ya don’t mind, then, I’d like to buy them.”
“Sure.” Rebekah nodded. “Look them over carefully first for any cracks, though.”
“Gut Gedanke—good thought.”
“Nice seein’ ya, Rose Ann.”
“You too.” Rose headed back to Martha, ready to pay for her new collection of dishes. An investment in hope . . .
Rose’s bedroom was situated toward the back of the house, away from the road. It was two rooms away from the largest bedroom in the house—the vacant one where her parents had slept prior to the mysterious market day accident that left Mamm paralyzed.
The pretty oak bookcase Dat had made for Rose stood at one end of the rectangular-shaped room. Rose liked to line up her library books there, sliding them into the middle shelf, spine out, pretending they were her very own collection. Each week, or at least every other week, she returned from the Quarryville library with yet another armload of historical romances—the very best kind of book, she’d decided some years ago.
This being the Lord’s Day, she knew better than to indulge in reading fanciful writings, even though her mother no longer harped about it. Perhaps it was because Rose was of age and her hobbies were her own. Still, she knew Sundays were meant for the Lord. They were not for reading love stories, except those from the Bible.
Lying in bed, nestled amongst pillows and her warmest quilts, Rose wondered in her sleepiness if any future husband would care if she had the lovely bookshelf in their house. And not only that, but filled nicely with books on all five shelves. Would he?
Whoever he might be. She smiled hazily, her mind moving away from sleep. Had she become so lonely she would simply settle for whoever came along after Silas Good?
I can’t let that happen. She threw off the covers and inched out of the comfortable bed. Swinging her legs over the side, she was glad for the rag rug that lay beneath her feet. She pushed her bare feet into her slippers, shivering in the dawn’s early light as she ventured onto the cold floor.
Finding her bathrobe, she snuggled into its warmth and opened her top drawer to find her long johns. Rose was so chilled, she put them on under her nightgown, then headed down the stairs to the bathroom just off the kitchen. It hadn’t struck her till just this minute that it was a no-Preaching Sunday. Right quick, she remembered her noontime plans with Mose and Ruthann. She was fairly certain the invitation had much to do with whatever fellow would be sitting across the table from her, but even if not, she could happily entertain herself with her little nephew and nieces. All under the age of five, Jonas, Barbara Ann, and Sally were sweet
children.
Rose closed the bathroom door and began to run the bathwater, hoping her father wouldn’t mind when he came to shave his upper lip later and discovered precious little hot water left. That had become a problem with Brandon’s almost daily showering next door. Talk about having to make do with a spoonful of water! She laughed at her own joke, thinking now of Hen and the man she loved, living on the other side of this wall, trying to put things back to the way they had been before Mattie Sue was born.
Lately, Rose had seen glimpses of something between them—a measure of sweetness. With all of her heart, she hoped they would in time rediscover how much they cared for each other, if for no other reason than for Mattie Sue’s sake. And the Lord’s, Rose thought, splashing cold water on her face.
While she brushed her teeth at the sink, she wondered if the groundhog had seen his shadow and gone back to his burrow for six more weeks of winter. She smiled at the notion that a marmot could predict the end of the coldest season.
She finished her bath quickly, her excitement for the day taking her full attention now. Mose had also dropped a hint to Dat that Rose wasn’t the only guest coming to dinner today, confirming her suspicions. But just who could it be?
Wouldn’t Cousin Melvin call me silly for wondering? She knew without a doubt he would. But then, so would her old friend Nick. Ach, for double sure!
After Rose was dressed and had breakfast under way for her parents, she looked through her basket of finished dolls for market to find one or two for her nieces. She noticed one on which she’d purposely stitched a downturned mouth after hearing from Dat about Nick’s going to college. Even now, she felt distressed when she thought of it, knowing the world had grabbed him and would never let him go.
Of course, she wouldn’t think of taking the sad-faced doll along to give to Barbara Ann or Sally. Instead, she picked out two matching faceless dolls—twins, really. Of course, except for the color of their dresses, all the girl dolls she made looked quite alike.
After a breakfast of cornmeal mush and tasty sausage, Rose washed and dried the dishes, then went in to read the Bible to Mamm, two chapters from Matthew that focused on some of the parables. Mamm especially liked the one about the kingdom of heaven being likened unto a treasure hidden in a field.
“God’s treasures are our truest gifts,” Mamm said in a near whisper. “Things not of this world.”
Rose knew what her mother meant: gifts such as comfort, peace, joy, love . . . and healing. “Beth Browning told me she’s still prayin’ for you, Mamm.”
Her mother’s eyes welled up with tears. “What a dear young woman.” Mamm wiped her eyes with a hankie.
Rose closed the Bible. “Beth seems wise beyond her years in some ways.” Like an old soul.
“I’m glad you’re still workin’ over there, dear.”
Rose was, too. “Well, I’d hate to lose touch after everything Beth’s done for us. . . .”
“I need to close my eyes for a while,” her mother said. Her face was pinched and her hands clenched, no doubt from pain.
“I’ll let you be, Mamm.” Rose placed the Good Book next to her mother’s pillow, where she liked it.
“Have a nice time today,” Mamm said softly. “Your father told me ’bout Mose’s plan . . . well, some of it.”
Ah, so both her parents knew.
“Mammi Sylvia will be over to set out some bread and cold cuts. And I made some lime Jell-O, too,” Rose told her mother.
“Your father will take you over to Mose and Ruthann’s,” Mamm said with a fleeting smile.
Playing along, Rose replied, “Awful gut of Dat.” She leaned down to kiss Mamm’s cheek and left the room, holding her breath and wondering why.
Hen had been reading a Bible storybook to Mattie Sue when the knock came at the back door. She looked up and was surprised to see their neighbor Aaron.
Is he coming to visit Brandon?
She placed the book on Mattie’s lap and rose to answer the door. “Welcome, Bishop . . . come inside and get warm.”
Aaron nodded his thanks and removed his black hat, hanging it on a nearby hook. He glanced about, then smiled at Mattie Sue, who still sat in the small adjoining room with her puppy dog. “Is your husband resting?” he asked Hen.
“At the moment.”
“Well, I don’t mean to be a bother.” The bishop reached again for his hat and was about to put it back on.
“No . . . I think Brandon would be pleased to know you’re here.” Hen offered him some hot coffee and a sticky bun, which put a smile on Aaron’s wrinkled face as he moved toward the table.
Hen poured coffee for him, then placed the plate of cinnamon rolls on the table. “There you are.” She excused herself to go upstairs and found Brandon sitting on the side of his bed, looking as if he’d had a good nap. Waiting in the doorway until she knew he was fully alert, she saw that he needed a shave under his neck. For the most part he had been doing a pretty good job with a razor and shaving cream, purely by feel. She hadn’t offered to help him, although she’d thought of it several times.
“Hen, I know you’re standing there.”
“Wondered if you felt up to having a visit with Bishop Aaron.”
Brandon raised his head. “Didn’t hear him come in.”
“Jah, he’s sitting at the table having coffee.”
“Tell him I’ll be right down.”
“Sure.” She turned to go.
“Hen . . . thanks for letting me know.”
“Of course.” She turned back toward him.
“Is my comb nearby?” he asked.
She spied it on the dresser and went to retrieve it for him, curious whether there was something more on his mind. She returned to the bed and placed the comb in his hand. “I’ll tell him you’re getting up.”
“Thanks.”
She hurried back downstairs in time to see Mattie Sue put Wiggles in the bishop’s lap. “Brandon will be down in a minute,” she announced as she went to pour coffee for herself and her husband.
“How’s he feelin’?” Aaron asked, petting the cocker spaniel with callused hands.
“His arm and ribs are healing, but he still can’t see.”
“Well, resting’s mighty gut.”
“The doctor says so.”
Mattie Sue moved closer to the table. “Daddy’s starting to like the farm,” she said.
“Jah. Just takes some getting used to,” Aaron said.
Mattie Sue looked ever so solemn.
“Now, honey-girl, don’t be frettin’, all right?” Aaron winked at her. “The Lord cares ’bout your daddy. Don’t ya forget, now.”
Mattie Sue’s face broke into a thoughtful smile.
The puppy jumped down from Aaron’s lap and followed Mattie Sue back to the front room, where the two of them cuddled and played.
When Brandon came downstairs, he shook Aaron’s hand and apologized for keeping him waiting. But Aaron wouldn’t hear of it. “I’m the one pokin’ my head in on ya,” he said.
Hen put the sugar bowl on the table right where she always did, so Brandon knew where to reach for it. Then she motioned for Mattie Sue to go upstairs with her, so the men could talk privately on this most beautiful Lord’s Day morning.
On the way to Mose and Ruthann’s late that morning, Rose and her father passed Deacon Samuel Esh’s farm, prompting Rose to ask about the vacancy their former bishop’s silencing had left in their church district. Her father explained that another bishop—Bishop Simon Peachey, from this side of Bart—had been appointed by Old Ezekiel, the oldest bishop in the county. “He’ll oversee our district for the next six months.”
Six months . . .
“What’ll happen then?”
“Aaron’s ordination will be lifted.”
“Completely taken away?”
Dat was quiet for a time. “Certain higher-ups evidently had their say-so.” He glanced her way, a solemn look on his face.
“And nothing can keep that from ha
ppening?”
“Short of a miracle, no.”
Rose knew little about the inner workings of the ministerial brethren. But she knew how much stock her father had always put in Aaron Petersheim. “It’s not like he’s sinned or is being punished. Or has he been set up as an example?”
“I can’t be certain.”
Rose didn’t want to press further, not as hurtful as all this had been. Besides, Dat was under enough stress with Mamm facing surgery. He wore the concern on his face, even though he continually trusted the Lord for all things pertaining to his family. Mamm was his beloved wife and longtime sweetheart. If things went awry and she was left worse off, Dat would surely blame himself.
“En Sinn un en Schand,” he said, referring to Aaron’s possible ousting.
“We can still pray,” she said. “For God to rule . . . and overrule before August first.”
“Ach, ya must never put time limits on the Lord,” Dat admonished her. “Leave things to His will.”
When they arrived at Mose’s, another family buggy was parked at the side of the house. Rose wasn’t sure who else had come, but Dat seemed to recognize the horse as one of the Millers’.
“Which Miller?” There were so many in the area.
“Arie’s father.”
Hen’s best friend’s father . . .
Rose thanked him for the ride, saying she’d get a ride home with Mose later. Dat grinned at that. “I’ll see ya later, then.”
“All right,” she said, suddenly feeling a bit shy. Was she truly ready to meet someone new?
Making haste to the back door, she found Leah Miller in the kitchen playing with Ruthann’s youngest, eighteen-month-old Sally, while Leah’s mother, Ruth, talked with Ruthann near the cookstove before waving her good-bye. “Hullo,” they all greeted Rose. Looking happier than she had since her beau Christian’s death, Leah carried curly-haired Sally over to Rose.
“How’ve ya been?” Leah asked Rose, bending to rub noses with little Sally.
“Just fine . . . and you?”
“Oh, busy helpin’ Mamma mend and sew.”
The Mercy Page 6
