The Wish

by Beverly Lewis

  He still recalled how utterly happy he’d felt when she agreed to let him court her, two and a half years ago now. From his earliest school days, he’d had his eye on Leona Speicher, admiring her shining spirit and kindness toward everyone. Her patience, too. It was only right that I be patient, as well, waiting for the right time to finally approach her.

  ———

  That windy yet sunny late-October afternoon of the cornhusking bee was still crystal clear in Tom’s memory. Die Youngie had arrived at Preacher Miller’s place and divided into several teams with four teenagers each racing the clock. Turning the chore into a work frolic had been more common decades ago, but the Millers had kept up their family’s annual tradition, eager to provide an activity for the youth in their church district.

  Leona and Tom found themselves on opposite sides, but that didn’t keep Tom from paying close attention to Leona’s masterful way with the task. He stole glances at her every now and then as they worked, noticing how gracefully her hands flew as she husked and snapped the ear off the stalk, then tossed the ear into the waiting bin. Most of the youth on both teams wore sharp-ended pegs on their fingers to split open the husk, their swift movements like second nature, they’d shucked so much corn.

  Tom recalled now how much fun Leona seemed to be having as part of her team, laughing and smiling as jokes were told over the course of the first hour, and then while their teams took a break to enjoy refreshments when the next two teams of youth took their place.

  Leona’s team’s pile of shucked corn weighed more than Tom’s by only a few pounds, and several of the fellows on Tom’s side asked for the corn to be weighed yet again. But when all was said and done, it was Leona’s group that triumphed and was rewarded with delicious hard candy.

  Later, Tom caught up with Leona out on the road as she headed for home on foot, asking if he might walk with her, just the two of them. He had been looking forward to this moment all day.

  “Ach, so much fun,” she said, massaging her right hand. “Not sure I could go that fast for much more than an hour, though.”

  He agreed, still mulling over the words he planned to say.

  “Were ya surprised at how many youth turned out today?” she asked, giving him one of her candies.

  Nodding, Tom decided to forge right ahead. “Would ya like to go for steady, Leona?”

  Her sudden smile was all the encouragement he needed. “Jah . . . I thought you might ask me today,” she replied.

  Tom hadn’t expected such a response, but he certainly liked it. He liked her. “Denki for the candy,” he said, enjoying the pleasant day more so now than even before, thankful that it was still warm this late in the season.

  Leona removed another piece from her pocket. “Here’s one more for ya.” She was all smiles as he accepted.

  Tom unwrapped it and popped it into his mouth, thinking he’d never been happier.

  ———

  Presently, Tom hitched up his mare to the open buggy and contemplated his upcoming date with Leona this Saturday. The day can’t come quickly enough, he thought, imagining walking hand in hand with her amidst the ferns and trees in the woods near her parents’ home. The clearing in the woodland there was Leona’s favorite spot in all of Lancaster County. “On earth,” she liked to say.

  It was only fitting that Tom point out to his sweetheart-girl the spot where, in another few weeks or so, he planned to break ground for their house. Not far from the clearing was a knoll where they could overlook the land his father had graciously given them to farm and live as newlyweds. Where we will grow our family . . .

  Making the turn into his father’s lane, Tom’s heart swelled with affection at the thought of his beloved Leona becoming his bride come fall. At long last.

  CHAPTER

  11

  Mamma, did ya order something?” Leona saw the mail carrier coming up their lane with a large parcel as she and her mother chopped celery, carrots, and onions for a pot of beef stew that Friday afternoon.

  Mamma smiled. “Jah, chust wait and see.”

  Ever so curious, Leona wiped her hands on her work apron and dashed outdoors.

  The tall postman set the box down on the back stoop and reached into his gray pouch. “Here you are, miss . . . and while I’m at it, I’ve got your mail.” He bobbed his head. “Good afternoon.”

  “You too.” She put the mail atop the box and carried it inside, setting the box on the counter opposite the cut-up vegetables. Mrs. Peter Speicher was printed clearly on the address label. “Want me to open it?”

  “Go ahead.” Her mother nodded.

  Leona slid the mail off to one side and used a knife to slice open the top. Peering inside, she saw a set of flat-bottom copper kettles sent from the Lehman’s Ohio warehouse. “So perty!”

  Mamma made her way over and pulled out one of the kettles. “Mighty nice, ain’t so?”

  “They’re wunnerbaar,” Leona agreed.

  Mamma’s face broke into the brightest smile. “Well, I’m glad ya like them. They’re for your hope chest—a pre-wedding gift.”

  “Denki, Mamma. You’re full of surprises.”

  “I’m not lookin’ forward to you movin’ out, but I couldn’t be happier for ya, Leona.”

  We’ve managed to get a bit closer lately, Leona mused, thinking ahead to her wedding day, her feelings surprisingly bittersweet. There had been a time when Leona would have said she was dying to leave home, so she was glad that her mother would voice the opposite sentiment.

  Did Mamma really feel that way?

  Near suppertime, Leona heard her father scuffing his boots on the rag rug in the outer room. An array of jackets and a few shawls, work coats, hats, shoes, and boots were arranged along one wall.

  Leona had long since put the hearty beef and vegetable stew on to cook, wasting no time in baking a big pan of corn bread, too. While the bread cooled, she brought up a jar of sweet-and-sour chow chow, as well as some pickled red beets. Dawdi would be joining them again for supper, and she wanted things to be extra nice.

  Before her father washed up, he made his way into the kitchen and placed something on the table as Leona laid out the paper napkins. “I found this lyin’ on the sidewalk,” he said, his chin jutting forward. With a nod, he returned to the outer room.

  Her mother picked up the envelope and squinted her eyes. “It’s from Hill View, Arkansas,” Mamma said. “Looks an awful lot like Gloria Gingerich’s handwriting.”

  “Wha-at?” Leona’s knees felt weak as she hurried around the table to take the envelope. She stared at the familiar handwriting and the return address, so far away. Tears pricked her eyes, and despite her frustration with her former friend, she couldn’t stop them from coming.

  Mamma was quiet, appearing to take this in stride.

  Can it really be from Gloria? Leona thought as anticipation trickled through her. Quickly, she tore open the envelope, ignoring that it was so close to suppertime.

  Her father returned stocking-footed to the kitchen, his left arm tucked into Dawdi Benuel’s elbow as he slowly and steadily guided his father to the table. “Seems Leona has some excitement,” Dat observed as Dawdi set his cane to one side and lowered himself into the sturdy chair they had scooted up to the table.

  “Will yous excuse me a minute?” Leona said, suddenly wanting nothing more than to sit somewhere quietly and absorb every word Gloria had written.

  But Dat shook his head, instead glancing toward the gas range and Leona’s chore at hand. “In its proper time. It can wait, daughter.”

  Obediently, Leona pushed the envelope into her dress pocket and went over to dish up the stew into a large tureen, which she carried to the table while it was nice and hot.

  “Your mind’s a hundred miles away,” Dawdi Benuel said when she took her seat across from him.

  Farther than that, she thought, wondering where exactly Hill View, Arkansas, was. She’d have to look at a map somewhere.

  “Gloria Gingerich sent me a letter
,” she told him. “I can scarcely wait to read it.”

  “Ah,” he said, eyes widening as he offered her a wrinkled smile. “’Tis a long time comin’, ain’t so?”

  Mamma looked on silently, her emotions veiled as Dat kept busy eating.

  Leona had a difficult time paying attention to the subdued conversation, and she wondered if her parents and grandfather were as curious as she was about what on earth had prompted Gloria to write at last.

  Probably not, Leona thought. And when she glanced her mother’s way, Mamma sighed softly, looking quite sad.

  Other than Gloria, she never cared much for the Gingerich family. . . .

  ———

  After a dessert of leftover chocolate cake, Leona’s father saw Dawdi safely back to the small addition next door. Lest Gloria’s letter burn a hole in her pocket, Leona excused herself to the front room, promising Mamma that she would redd up the kitchen the minute she returned.

  So many different thoughts were running through her head.

  Heart pounding, Leona began to read.

  Dear Leona,

  I hardly know how to begin. And I wouldn’t blame you for not opening this letter. You have every right to be put out with me, or worse.

  It feels like forever since we last talked, and I’ve missed you terribly. We left in such a rush! That first week after we moved, I sat down and wrote a long letter to you, but my father found out and insisted he wanted our family to cut all ties to the People there. Sending it was out of the question.

  I did my best to honor him, but oh, was it hard! Wasn’t long before I wished I’d never listened to him, yet I felt too humiliated at not keeping my promise to write to you. I hope you’ve made new and better friends. Maybe someday, you might see fit to forgive me.

  While we returned to Arkansas, we lasted just nine months in the Hill View church district—different than the Plain community where I was born.

  The story is too long for me to write here, but ultimately Dad decided it was best for us to go fancy, with no more strict church ordinances to follow.

  I am embarrassed to tell you all of this, dear Leona, but I feel like I’ve reached the end of my rope, and I need the wisdom of the truest friend I ever had. Is there any chance you might call me? I realize it’s asking a lot, and that you have every right to refuse, but you’re the only one I can turn to now.

  Please call me anytime at this number: 555-649-0230. It’s my cell phone, so you don’t have to worry that anyone else will answer.

  Still your sister-friend, if you’ll have me,

  Gloria Gingerich

  Shaken that Gloria had gone fancy, Leona read through the letter again. Was there something she’d missed, something that might explain why ever-confident Gloria had admitted to being at the end of her rope? What was happening? And why was she reaching out to Leona now?

  CHAPTER

  12

  While frying bacon the next morning, Leona gingerly shared with her mother some of what Gloria had written, including that the Gingeriches were no longer Amish. She held her breath, then added, “She wants me to give her a call.”

  A frown appeared as Mamma poured the mixture of eggs, milk, and onions into the hot black skillet. “Is that a gut idea?”

  The same worrisome thought had nagged Leona late into the night, but she couldn’t let her friend down—not when Gloria had finally reached out to her.

  “She needs to talk to me . . . she said as much.” Leona paused. “You don’t mind, do ya?”

  “Well, I s’pose if you want to call her . . . there’s no reason why ya can’t.”

  “Denki, Mamma.”

  Her mother added Swiss cheese to the thickening eggs. “You’re clearly concerned for Gloria,” Mamma said.

  Turning the bacon strips, Leona nodded. She was practically my sister . . . and I want to be there for her if I can. She couldn’t help wondering what her old friend might have to say.

  All that morning at Maggie’s shop, Leona tried to imagine what Gloria’s life was like now, especially since they hadn’t shared any goings-on for this long. Had she changed considerably in looks since she’d become an Englischer? Did she wear earrings and short hair, paint her nails . . . her lips? Gloria hadn’t mentioned being married, or having a serious beau—a boyfriend, as she would surely refer to a fellow now. Was she working somewhere . . . maybe even attending college?

  Ach, such a terrible shock. Gloria has followed her parents out of the Amish church!

  “You all right?” Maggie asked Leona in between sales. “You look simply bedauerlich.”

  “Nee, ain’t sad. Just thinkin’, is all.”

  “Well, I sure wouldn’t wanna think that hard, or my face might crack.”

  Leona smiled at that. “I received a letter from Gloria.”

  “Wha-at?”

  Nodding, Leona told her everything. “They’re no longer Amish, she said. And she sounds desperate . . . wants me to call her.”

  “Well, what the world! Why now, I wonder?”

  “That’s what I thought,” Leona admitted, worry niggling at her.

  By her best calculations, Gloria assumed Leona had received the letter by now. “Either yesterday or today,” she murmured to herself on the drive home from the diner where she worked as a waitress. It wasn’t the kind of job she wanted long-term, but it would do for now, since she only had her GED—something she knew she should consider remedying.

  “Will Leona even give me the time of day?” she whispered, recalling the dozen or more times she’d started the letter, each version ending up crumpled on the floor, until she’d finally written one she dared to send. One she was permitted to mail off now that she was twenty-one. Her father had told her he would not stop her, even though she knew it was with much reluctance.

  Sighing, she glanced in the rearview mirror, glad for this time alone after juggling orders for the cook, wiping down tables, and making small talk with customers. She needed time to process everything, including what she would tell Leona in the event she called.

  Driving the back roads here reminded her of happier days, of taking the horse and buggy to a quilting bee, or to market in Lancaster County. Yet she mustn’t let herself brood; she’d come too far to reminisce for long. According to her parents, as Englishers, they were right where they all needed to be.

  At the stoplight, Gloria glanced at her phone on the console to check that the ringtone volume was set loud enough. She did not want to miss Leona’s call. And surely she would come through for her, despite Gloria’s silence. Not the way I planned it, she thought, resentment swelling again.

  Initially, she hadn’t understood why her father had prevented her and her brothers from staying in touch with friends in Colerain. What harm could have come of a simple letter? Still, her father’s anger toward the brethren—or had it been uneasiness, even fear?—made her comply with his wishes. Well, that and the tongue-lashing when her father caught her writing to Leona their very first day back in Arkansas.

  Eventually, Gloria had made new acquaintances amongst the nearly three hundred Amish in the community of Hill View, but never any as close as Leona. With just a few Amish settlements in Arkansas, naturally her father had chosen the church district most similar to that in their former community of Salem.

  Now, seeing Adam’s old blue beater parked in the driveway, Gloria grimaced and wondered how he’d gotten home so early from his job at the car repair shop. She gathered up her purse, phone, and jacket, glad she hadn’t told him about writing to Leona. However, if she received a call from her friend, she would have to tell him something, especially if Leona agreed to come for a visit.

  Surely our parents won’t object to having an Amish houseguest for a few days. After all, it’s been three and a half years since we left Pennsylvania. . . . What can it hurt now?

  Leona ventured out of her room and passed Mamma in the hallway late that afternoon, saying she would be back shortly to set the table. “I want to call Gloria right quick
.”

  Her mother gave a faint smile, and Leona flew down the stairs and headed outdoors, startling a gray cloud of birds in the maples at the far end of the yard. Oh, to speak with her friend again!

  She clung to Gloria’s phone number on a piece of paper as she hurried through the meadow, feeling a sudden tentativeness now. Her father’s mules were still out grazing, enjoying what was left of the daylight, and the sounds of deep springtime chorused up all around her. Lord, please be ever near as I talk to my friend.

  Leona spotted the little wooden phone shanty, glad when she saw through the window that it was vacant. The door squeaked open and shut, and she stood before the telephone, realizing she was out of breath.

  Gloria can’t be happy outside the Amish church, she thought as she dialed the phone number. How could she be?

  After only two rings, Gloria answered, “Hello?”

  Hearing her voice, Leona was momentarily speechless. Then, “Ach, Gloria! This is Leona Speicher, callin’ from—”

  “I know who you are,” Gloria said. “Am I ever glad you received my letter!”

  Just hearing Gloria express herself so brought back a flood of memories. “It’s so gut to talk to you.”

  “You too, Leona.” Then the sound of sniffling came through the line. “I . . . I hardly know what to say.”

  She heard Gloria blowing her nose. “What’s happening?”

  “I’m on the brink of making a huge decision . . . and feeling so much pressure from all sides.” Gloria paused for a moment, then sighed. “Maybe this wasn’t such a good idea, talking by phone.”

  Leona recalled the letter, its urgent tone. “I’m glad to help, if I can.”

  “I just don’t know. I . . . don’t want to inconvenience you.”