The Wish

by Beverly Lewis

  “Show me the new candles,” Gloria said, trying to feign interest.

  But Leona knew her too well. “Ach, Schweschder, you didn’t come for a friendly visit, did ya?” Her face turned pale. “Something’s the matter.” She patted her chest. “I feel it in here.”

  “I . . .” Tears sprang to Gloria’s eyes.

  Quickly, Leona led her to an alcove displaying knickknacks and homemade soaps, as well as sachets of potpourri. “When ya didn’t come to Singing last night, I was worried.”

  “Truth be told, Leona . . . I couldn’t face the thought of goin’. Not when . . .” Gloria shook her head. If she let herself, she would crumple into a sorrowful heap on the floor. “Nee, I don’t know how to begin. . . .”

  “What’s happened?” Leona nodded encouragingly, but her expression was all concern.

  Not sure what else to say, Gloria decided to state it right out. “Daed’s been put off church by our new bishop.”

  “What?” There was no mistaking the shock on Leona’s face. “How can this be?”

  Sighing, Gloria said, “Bishop Mast is older and much stricter. And . . . don’t tell anyone, but he’s concerned for my father’s eternal destiny.”

  “The bishop said that?”

  Nodding, Gloria fished out a hankie from her long sleeve and dried her tears.

  “Careful, you’ll wipe your freckles off.” Leona gave her a smile as she repeated what she’d often said since their school days.

  “Oh, I’m gonna miss you somethin’ awful.” Gloria sniffed.

  “Miss me?” Leona shook her head. “What do ya mean?”

  Inhaling deeply, Gloria tried to calm herself. “Daed isn’t going to submit to the brethren. . . . I feel sure of it. We’re leavin’ town.”

  “But . . .” Tears pooled in Leona’s eyes. “I don’t understand.”

  “My father won’t repent.” Gloria lowered her voice. “He’s not gonna budge.”

  Leona gasped. “Surely things can be worked out in time.”

  “I’m prayin’, but—” Gloria sighed. “Doesn’t seem like Daed’s waiting around for answers.”

  Reaching for her, Leona gave her a quick embrace. “I’ll ask Gott for understanding—wisdom, too. Maybe He can make something gut come out of this. We must believe that, jah?”

  “Denki,” Gloria whispered. It was just too difficult . . . too painful to say much more. And while it made her feel guilty, in her heart of hearts, she had to question the reason behind Daed’s standoff: Did it really have anything to do with the more severe bishop? Or was there more to it?

  “Is there anything ya can do?” Leona asked now. “Anything at all?”

  Gloria studied Leona’s face, memorizing it. “There is something,” she admitted. “I could ask my parents if I might stay on here . . . if it does come to that.”

  Big tears rolled down Leona’s cheeks. “Oh, if only you could stay.”

  “Maybe someone will take me in, ’least till I’m wed.” With everything in her, she hoped for that, though she didn’t want to sound presumptuous. “I mean, think of it—we can’t just let our hopes and plans all come to nothing over a spat between Daed and the ministers, can we?”

  Leona brightened. “S’pose I could talk to my parents ’bout—”

  “Nee—we best wait an’ see.” Gloria did not want to complicate things by getting Pete and Millie Speicher caught in the middle, much as she liked the quiet couple. “I really don’t know what’ll happen,” she said, putting on a brave face.

  “Well, we ain’t sayin’ good-bye today. And not ever!”

  They clasped each other’s hands.

  She doesn’t know my father, Gloria thought sorrowfully.

  “If you do end up movin’ with your family, you must keep in touch,” Leona pleaded, eyelashes wet with tears. “Promise?”

  “I’ll write every week.” Brokenhearted, Gloria turned to go, wondering if there was even the slightest chance her father might permit her to stay behind.

  After returning home from work that afternoon, Leona went for a walk, pondering how quickly life could be overturned. She couldn’t imagine being without Gloria and her family next door.

  Nearing home, she spotted Adam Gingerich heading this way in his courting buggy. Is he coming to say good-bye, too?

  Adam waved and pulled over. “Ride with me, Leona.” His smile belied the tone in his voice.

  She hurried across the road and got in. “Your sister stopped by the store,” she said, wondering what he might say to that.

  Nodding thoughtfully, Adam reached for the driving lines. “I s’pose that means you already know why I want to see ya.” He sounded miserable.

  Leona nodded. “I’m still hopin’ something will change and all will be well.” She had trouble getting the words out. Then, not wanting to mention Gloria’s hope of staying behind, she fell silent.

  “I know it’s odd for us to be out together like this, since we’re not really dating,” Adam said. “Tellin’ the truth, I really don’t know how things will go with my father. He sure seems bent on packin’ up and leaving.” Adam turned and gave her a sad smile. “Mighty glad I caught ya.” He slowed the horse and turned onto Mount Pleasant Road, toward Jackson’s Sawmill Covered Bridge. “Leona, I know we’ve only been out one time, but I truly care for ya,” he said softly. “And I’d hate to lose you.”

  He reached for her hand as they entered the bridge.

  Before she realized what was happening, Adam leaned over and kissed her cheek. Leona’s heart pounded in her ears as he leaned near.

  A car’s horn sounded behind them, and Adam took the reins again. Leona wanted to glance over at him but kept her eyes forward as the horse trotted forward into the sunlight.

  They rode northeast to Ninepoints, and Leona wished they might just keep riding till nightfall. She could not bear to think of Adam leaving. Not now.

  CHAPTER

  5

  Puh! You mustn’t talk that way, daughter.” Gloria’s father’s words smarted. “This family sticks together—you know that. Don’t ask again!” She winced as he raised his voice, there in the front room, where he sat warming his stocking feet by the coal stove.

  Gloria had expected this response, yet she’d had to ask rather than silently suffer through the ordeal of moving again. Leaving was the last thing she wanted to do.

  “Now, go on . . . get your things packed.” Daed waved his hand at her and got out of his chair, going over to secure several stacked boxes. “Then help your Mamm with Jonas’s and James’s things, too.”

  Biting her lip, Gloria didn’t say the words in her head—that this was an impossible thing to ask of them. It was beyond her understanding, and she was ever so sure Mamm felt the same way.

  Why couldn’t Daed see eye to eye with the ministers? What was keeping him from doing whatever was required to be at peace with the brethren?

  In the stillness of her room, she rocked silently on the bed, tears threatening. She and Leona had planned their happy futures in this spot, thanking God for their friendship. They’d embroidered here and whispered their secrets, and knelt to pray together, too. Was it all for naught?

  Gloria relived her visit to Maggie’s Country Store, remembering the shocked look in Leona’s eyes at the sad news. And now there might not be time left to tell her the outcome of Gloria’s talk with Daed. Or to tell her good-bye . . .

  Hands trembling, Gloria did as her father had insisted, opening her dresser drawers and packing her things. She realized this was likely the end of her courtship with Leona’s cousin. I’m not even allowed to say farewell to dear Orchard John. . . .

  Gritting her teeth so she wouldn’t cry, she felt too embarrassed to even attempt to go to him and tell him of her father’s intent to leave. Oh, she hoped Leona might get word to him. Better he find out from her than someone else.

  She hastened to finish the dreadful chore, all the while pushing aside the lovely memories. Each one was precious in its own way, and
she promised herself never to forget.

  Later, she made her way up the hall to her young brothers’ bedroom. Seven-year-old James’s lip quivered. Both he and nine-year-old Jonas looked mighty sad as the late-afternoon light poured in through west-facing windows.

  “I like it here.” James inched over to her. “Why are we leavin’?”

  His disappointment made Gloria ache all the more. “The Lord Gott will give us peace in this,” she said softly. “We know that for sure, Bruder.”

  Rosy-cheeked Jonas squatted down on the other side of the bed and tugged on the old suitcase beneath the box springs, bringing it up onto the bed.

  Gloria offered a faint smile. “Now, let’s see how fast we can get your clothes organized and ready, jah?”

  Jonas groaned pitifully but opened the suitcase and began placing his clothing inside. Young James was still fighting back tears, his brown bangs framing his small, solemn face.

  Working together with her woeful brothers, Gloria remembered the sadness she had felt when Daed had hurried her along to help Mamm that other time, too. The day before we up and left the only home I’d ever known . . . in Salem. Then Gloria had paid a hasty visit to her schoolteacher, wanting to say good-bye to the kindhearted and patient woman who’d taught her to read. The books at the one-room schoolhouse had been on the shelf near the windows, where she’d sometimes caught herself staring out at the pastureland surrounding the playground, imagining what it might be like to have a sister, praying for one.

  Just like Leona used to, Gloria thought, returning to packing.

  Oddly enough, Tom’s first reaction that morning upon hearing of Arkansas Joe’s plan to leave was not to thank God for removing Adam, but to worry for Leona. How would she manage losing Gloria? Arkansas Joe’s answer is to disappear? Why?

  Tom drove the hack toward work with Danny in the front seat, feeling somewhat dazed by all of this.

  Unexpectedly, a runaway softball tumbled down the slope near the Amish schoolhouse, and a towheaded boy dashed out into the road, chasing after it.

  Shaken, Tom halted the horse and peered down at the chagrined young scholar. Picking up the ball, the child scurried back to the others who were waiting to continue the game.

  Downright dangerous. What if a car had zoomed past just now instead of his horse and carriage?

  Tom decided then and there that whenever he was married and had a family, he would make a point of drilling his children not to run into a road after a ball. “A ball can always be replaced,” he whispered, still troubled by the boy’s impulsive rush down the hill.

  He glanced at Danny, who was shaking his head, his long fingers signing, A big risk . . . for a ball!

  Together, they rode two miles to the smithy’s in Bartville, where Tom pulled into the lot and stopped the horse. He signed to his brother to say he’d return to pick him up after work.

  Danny bobbed his head and leaped out of the buggy. Turning, he waved boyishly, then hastened to assist their cousin Michael Petersheim, one of Lancaster County’s several experienced blacksmiths.

  Clicking his tongue, Tom signaled the mare to move forward and took in the autumn beauty on either side of the road. He had always felt especially fond of Danny and bore a burden of sadness over his deafness. He wondered if it was worse to be born stone-deaf like Danny . . . or to lose one’s hearing after an illness or accident. It was, of course, impossible to know.

  Danny himself was a great encouragement to the whole Ebersol family, having shown an optimistic determination since his early childhood. He worked hard, too, never shying away from a challenge. Danny will make his way in life, no doubt about that, thought Tom, realizing there were other Youngie in the community who had fewer strikes against them, yet who demonstrated far less discipline and courage.

  When Tom arrived at Uncle Alan Lapp’s office, Alan greeted him and launched into talking about a newly contracted job drywalling a kitchen remodel for an English client. Alan indicated that Tom would be working with another contractor, putting up the walls today. Tomorrow, he would be working alone, installing the ceiling.

  “Sounds like an all-day project,” Tom said, setting down his cooler. “Mamm sent along her famous chicken salad sandwiches.”

  “Better keep your eye on ’em,” Uncle Alan joked, glancing at the cooler.

  His uncle pointed out the location for the job on the large Lancaster County map thumbtacked to the wall. Red dots indicated past jobs and blue ones upcoming builds and remodels. “See there?”

  Tom took a good look, studying the roads. “I’m familiar with that area. Easy enough. I’ll let the driver know.”

  “We’ll help ya load the drywall jack into the back of the van when he arrives,” his uncle said, then indicated that the other Amish fellow helping today would meet Tom there. “So you’ll have help to unload on that end.”

  “Mighty heavy equipment.” Tom recalled the last time he’d used it.

  His uncle’s eyes turned serious. “How are things at home these days?”

  “Not sure what ya mean,” Tom said, befuddled by the sudden change of subject.

  “It’s just . . . well.” Uncle Alan seemed a bit uncomfortable. “I s’pose ya know ’bout Arkansas Joe bein’ in some hot water.”

  “Not much,” Tom said, purposely remaining mum as he went to pour some black coffee, his first cup today. There’d been no time for coffee earlier as he and Danny had helped his father with barn chores. Anna, their sixteen-year-old sister, had rushed out to help feed the livestock before she left the house to work as a housekeeper for Tessie Mast, Bishop Mast’s elderly cousin.

  “Is your father in the middle of it?” Uncle Alan pressed.

  Tom frowned at the awkward question. “There’s been a rift.”

  “Can’t see why no one’s talkin’ sense to Joe.” Alan was shaking his head. “Awful strange, that man.”

  Tom did not want to discuss it, nor that his father was so sleep deprived he looked ill, with dark shadows under his eyes. The last thing any of the ordained brethren wanted was to lose a church family over a disagreement, yet Arkansas Joe seemed to be giving them no choice.

  “Just makes ya wonder . . . Joe comin’ from another state like he did, out of the blue.” His uncle set an inquiring gaze on Tom. “Guess ya can’t tell me what ya know, can ya, son?”

  Tom studied his uncle as he took another swallow of coffee. He could trust his mother’s older brother, but it wasn’t Tom’s place to recount the scraps of conversations he’d been unexpectedly privy to in the barn, where his father and the new bishop had talked on more than one occasion while Tom worked nearby. It wasn’t in his nature to eavesdrop, but he couldn’t help thinking about what he’d heard, and none of it added up. “I’d best not say.” He tried to be respectful. “You understand, jah, Onkel?”

  Alan ran his stubby, callused fingers through his graying beard. “That’s what’s so gut about ya, Tom . . . you’re downright dependable. No one can ever doubt it.”

  Tom finished the coffee, glad his uncle hadn’t pushed harder. Then, gathering up his lunch and his gray work apron, he headed out to the parking lot to wait for the company’s driver to haul him and the equipment over to the job. Soon, Mamm would be dropping Anna by to take Tom’s buggy to a sewing bee. It was odd to think of his sister driving his courting carriage. A carriage that has yet to carry a single date home from Singing!

  Nevertheless, he knew well enough whom he’d like to escort home . . . and now that Adam was departing with his family, Tom actually stood a chance.

  CHAPTER

  6

  Leona finished up afternoon chores early so she could visit Gloria before sundown. She hoped Arkansas Joe and the brethren had come to some agreement by now.

  Drawing her neck scarf closer, Leona was glad she’d taken time to put on the new black sweater she wore under her jacket. A scant few red and orange leaves still clung to branches along the roadside, and Leona already missed the full splendor of fall—“a bril
liant portal leading us to winter,” Gloria’s mother had once described it, inspired by a poetry book she’d gotten from the library.

  Leona and Gloria also shared a love of poetry, frequently reading aloud verses for any season or frame of mind. Leona preferred the lighthearted rhyming verses that painted rich descriptions with only a handful of words. Yet for all the girls’ love of poetry, neither of them wrote it. Leona preferred to make things using items found in nature—thistles, brushwood, and other bits and pieces from the forest floor—to fashion one-of-a-kind wreaths to sell at Mamma’s market stand.

  While Gloria seemed to enjoy helping Leona with the wreaths, it wasn’t something she chose to do without her friend. In her free time, Gloria made homemade cards and wrote notes and letters, sending them to encourage sick folk and to celebrate birthdays. On occasion, she would even send an anonymous one to other youth in the church who needed a little pick-me-up.

  “Gott helps you create things with your hands,” she would tell Leona, “and I write what He prompts me to share with others.”

  For sure and for certain, Gloria had a gift for spreading joy around the community, and the People appreciated it. Leona just wished she could do the same for her friend during this difficult time.

  The red sun was dropping fast as Leona hurried to Gloria’s. To think that same sun had nearly burnt her eyes this morning as she waited for her ride to Maggie’s store near Bartville.

  Especially this time of year, it seemed remarkable how, in the space of a few hours, the sky could go from blindingly bright to so dim you needed a flashlight before the evening meal was even on the table. Even so, Leona knew the way to Gingeriches’ as well as she knew her own family’s land, and she could hardly wait to see the frosty-white paths the snow would make in the hollow of the forest come next month. The little red bittersweet berries she enjoyed gathering with Gloria would show up more easily against the wintery landscape. It was right pleasant walking along the perimeter of the trees in that coldest season; better than in early spring, when mud pulled at her boots.