by Beth Wiseman
She knew what was coming, and she couldn’t wait.
Please, dear Lord, I pray that everything goes well today. Please keep any worry from my heart. And . . . I pray I don’t get the hiccups.
Anna Ruth Smoker was today’s hostess, and although everyone who attended brought a dish, Anna Ruth always made extra desserts when the event was held at her house. Priscilla smiled as she counted the number of buggies parked out front.
The Smoker residence was beautiful inside and out. It was a new home built to resemble an old farmhouse, but every time Priscilla visited, she could still smell a hint of fresh paint, even though there was always a lingering aroma of freshly baked cookies in the air.
Her stomach tickled with butterflies as Mamm knocked on the door. Her heart raced as they stepped inside the roomy living room.
“Surprise!”
Priscilla threw her hands to her mouth and pretended to be surprised, the way all brides-to-be did when Sisters Day was transformed into a party before someone’s wedding. Bridal showers like the Englisch have weren’t part of the Old Order Amish ways, but instead someone hosted a Tupperware or Home Interior Party, and the hostess credit went to the bride-to-be so that she could pick out whatever she wanted for free. Priscilla had been to dozens of these parties over the years, dreaming of one day being the guest of honor. Everyone always bought lots of items to ensure a plentiful shopping spree for the bride. She was anxious to see what type of party they’d planned for her.
“Danki, danki,” she said as she made her way through the crowd, which included Chester’s mother, Irma. Mary Zook and her girls were there, too, including Rachel.
“Pre-Ceelia! Pre-Ceelia!” Rachel pushed her way to Priscilla and threw her arms around her. Once Rachel’s mother finally coaxed Rachel to step aside, Priscilla saw Rose, all her friends, and . . . “Hannah!”
She walked briskly to her sister, who looked incredibly uncomfortable in a recliner in the corner. But a smile stretched across Hannah’s face. “I wouldn’t have missed this, Priscilla.”
Priscilla leaned down and hugged her very pregnant sister, then glanced around the room, still anxious to see what type of party had been planned for her. Yes! Tupperware! She eyed the food containers and fancy gadgets lining a table against the wall in the living room.
“Let’s go have a look.” Her mother tucked her arm in Priscilla’s, and together they walked to the table while the other women chatted amongst themselves. Mamm picked up a Whip ’N Prep, and Priscilla filled with excitement at the thought of owning the nonelectric appliance that could whip egg whites, creams, and all kinds of sauces.
“Ach, Mamm.” Priscilla accepted the item from her mother and inspected it. “I’ve always wanted one of these, ever since I saw Linda Petersheim get one at her party.” She slowly placed it back on the table, knowing it was expensive.
“That’s why I’m buying it for you.” Mamm stood taller and grinned. “The Englisch don’t have anything on us, my dear. That is a fine kitchen tool, and no electricity needed.”
Priscilla smiled. “Danki, Mamm.”
Her mother nodded as they walked back to the living room, making sure they greeted everyone. Priscilla didn’t notice the smell of fresh paint today, only the wonderful aromas of freshly baked goods. She couldn’t wait to see what was in store for her in the kitchen, that her friends and family had prepared for this special day. For her.
Thank You, God.
Chester and his father sat on the back of the plow eating sandwiches Chester’s mother had made that morning. Abe was in town getting supplies since he wasn’t much help on the plow with his broken wrist. Chester was glad that the last of the harvest was in, and as he ate his ham and cheese sandwich, he hoped Priscilla was having a good time at her party. He was pretty sure she’d known about the event, but it would have been improper for her to have mentioned it, and Priscilla played by the rules. He knew that the mishaps lately were causing her grief.
Please, Lord, I pray that things go gut at Priscilla’s party today.
“Chester, I’m planning to help you as much as I can with your haus, but . . .” His father ran his hand the length of his beard. “I just don’t see how we are going to be able to finish everything in time for you to move in by mid-November as you and Priscilla were hoping. You might need to stay with her folks for a couple of months, at least.”
Chester’s heart sank, but he knew his father was right. There was just too much work to do. “Ya, I know.”
They were quiet for a few moments.
His father stored his trash in the same black tin lunch box he’d been carting around for as long as Chester could remember. Chester stuffed his garbage in something a bit more modern, a small vinyl ice chest no bigger than his father’s lunch box, but with a cooling block. He’d offered to buy his father one—Abe had one too. But Daed insisted his old box was just fine.
“You going to talk to Mr. Turner about getting your job back?” Daed tipped back the rim of his straw hat. “Just don’t make no sense, him firing you like that.”
Chester jumped off the plow. “He thinks I stole that money, Daed. I think that bothers me more than anything else.” He turned to face his father. “How can he think I would do that?”
His father eased his way off the plow as he pulled his jacket snug around him. “I don’t know, sohn. That’s why I think you should go talk to him.”
Chester thought about the hurtful words Mr. Turner spewed at him on the phone. “That money was there! Now it’s gone, and I know you took it! I don’t want you back in my store. Ever! Do you understand me? I will mail you your final check . . . minus the two hundred dollars!”
“I don’t know, Daed.”
They were quiet again as they readied the plow and mules to resume work.
“Guess you’ll be going to meet Priscilla at the shanty tonight?” Daed grinned. It was the first time his father had openly admitted that he knew where Chester went on Tuesdays and Thursdays. “Soon enough, you’ll have your own home.”
Chester forced a smile, but he sure did wish things were different. He wasn’t looking forward to living with Priscilla’s family for longer than the two weeks they’d originally planned, plus he didn’t have a job. It wasn’t the way he wanted to start their married life.
Daed put his hands on his hips and scowled. “Did you know your bruder got a cell phone?”
Chester twisted his mouth to one side. “Ya. I’m not sure exactly how long he’s had it.”
“He knows we don’t like that.” Daed shook his head as he stepped onto the plow. “I would say he came to his senses and decided to get rid of it because it’s just not our way, but . . .” Daed grinned. “He found out what it was going to cost him every month. I overheard him tell Linda that he was getting rid of it.” His father chuckled. “But turns out it ain’t cheap to get rid of those things either. Something about a cancellation fee.”
Chester smiled. Abe was always the first one to be interested in a new gadget, but he didn’t like to spend his hard-earned cash unless he had to. Abe only worked about fifteen hours per week in Bird-in-Hand behind the counter at an Amish-owned deli.
“I know that the temptations of the outside world are many. And I know that more and more folks are putting phones in their barns and even carrying mobile ones.” Daed shook his head. “But if we’re not careful, we’ll become just like the Englisch— never a peaceful moment.”
Chester nodded. Almost everyone they knew had a phone in the barn, some with ringers in the house. And even though Bishop Ebersol frowned on cell phones, lots of folks in the district had them. He and Priscilla had talked about the convenience of having a phone in the barn, but in the end they decided they wanted their kinner to experience Old Order life as it should be: detachment from the rest of the world. Chester knew that times were changing and more and more of their people were converting to the ways of the Englisch, but even if just for a while, he and Priscilla wanted to share the same phone shanty with th
eir folks, the Dienners, and Petersheims. The same phone shanty that they’d shared for so many Tuesday and Thursday evenings.
He smiled as he thought about holding Priscilla in his arms tonight.
Priscilla left Sisters Day elated. There was so much going on that she didn’t have time to worry about everything that had been going wrong lately. Her friends and family had spent lavishly on Tupperware items for their own homes, increasing the hostess credits. Priscilla used her gift credits to purchase a vast assortment of kitchen utensils, tools, and containers, although her mother had insisted on buying the Whip ’N Prep.
She spent the afternoon working on her wedding dress, which was coming along nicely, and she was pretty sure she could finish it this week. With the wedding only two and a half weeks away, she’d be busy with final preparations. For the first time in days, her heart was free of worry, and she silently thanked God for the many blessings in her life.
After supper and cleanup, she pulled her black coat on and topped her prayer covering with her black bonnet to protect her ears from the early evening winds.
She ran across the field, anxious to tell Chester about her day. Blue-gray skies with only a hint of orange signified that the day’s end was near. She could see Chester waiting for her in the distance.
“I take it you had a gut day,” he said as she flung herself into his arms.
“Ya, I did. It was wunderbaar!” She eased away from him, feeling light and peaceful. “Sisters Day was my bridal party, and I got so many wonderful things for our new home. I can’t wait to be your frau, Chester, and I refuse to let worry fill my heart. Our wedding will be beautiful. We will get the haus done, and you will find a new job.” She exhaled a long sigh. “Everything will work out according to God’s plan.”
She stepped back from him, met his eyes, and smiled. “So! No more fretting!” She’d let no shadows cross her heart today.
Her husband-to-be smiled down at her, and she could see joy and approval in his blue eyes.
“Gut. I’m glad to hear that you will let go of worry. And you’re right. Everything is according to His plan. We’ll be fine.”
Chester leaned down, and as the cool wind breezed against her cheeks, his kiss warmed her all over. She kissed him back, ready to be Mrs. Chester Lapp.
Then the phone rang.
CHAPTER 8
Chester wasn’t sure he’d ever seen a person transform so suddenly. As the phone in the shanty rang over and over again, Priscilla’s face had changed to something—frightening.
“Chester Lapp, don’t you dare answer that phone. Don’t pick it up! Pretend it’s not ringing.” She squeezed her eyes closed and pinched her lips together.
Chester gently took her by both shoulders until she opened her eyes. She glared at the ringing phone as if it were evil. “Priscilla . . . what is wrong with you?”
She let out a heavy sigh. “Every time that phone rings, there’s a problem.” She cut her eyes at him, and he tried not to grin. “Don’t answer it, Chester.”
“Okay, okay,” he finally said, holding his palms up. “I won’t answer it. But I think you’re being a little crazy. It could be for someone else.”
“Or it could be someone calling to tell us something else is wrong with the house! Or some other catastrophe relating to our wedding.” She hiccuped. “Oh no! Oh no!”
She slapped her hand over her mouth so hard that Chester was sure it must have stung.
“See! This is what happens! Bad news and hiccups always go together!” She took two steps back. “I have to go.”
Chester glanced back and forth between his somewhat ab im kopp fiancée and the phone. “Listen.” He held up one finger. “It isn’t ringing anymore. You don’t have to go.”
“Ach! Ya, I do!”
She hiccuped again, and Chester couldn’t keep from grinning.
“This is not funny, Chester. I have to go before something happens to mess up this day.” She turned and ran, but looked over her shoulder. “I love you!”
Still grinning, he watched her run across the field. “I love you, too, Priscilla!”
She didn’t turn around, but waved a hand in the air.
Life with his Priscilla would never be boring.
Priscilla bolted up the porch steps, ran through the living room, and hit the stairs two at a time. She bumped into her mother on the way up.
“Priscilla, what are you in such a hurry for? Come back downstairs. I have some things to talk to you about, things about the wedding, the food, and—”
“No! Not today. I can’t, Mamm. We’ll talk tomorrow.”
“But, Priscilla—”
She slammed her bedroom door and didn’t hear the rest of what her mother said. Flinging her bonnet and jacket on her bed, she placed both hands on her chest and took a deep breath. The hiccups were gone.
She sat down on the edge of the bed and thought about how ridiculous—and childlike—Chester must have thought her behavior. The bedroom door flew open.
“Priscilla Marie King . . .” Mamm stood in the doorway with her hands on her hips. “What in the world is wrong with you?”
Priscilla cringed, knowing she shouldn’t have been so snappy with her mother . . . or slammed the door. “Sorry, Mamm.”
“I thought you’d be excited to hear what I have to say about plans for your wedding.” She dropped her hands to her side. “Not rush to your room and slam the door.”
“Sorry.” She hung her head for a moment, but then superstition flooded over her. Even though she didn’t have the hiccups anymore, she was still afraid to ruin this day. “Can we talk about it tomorrow?”
“What’s wrong with right now?” Mamm edged closer to the bed and scowled. “This isn’t like you, Priscilla.”
“It’s been such a nice day, and I don’t want anything to spoil it, and . . .” She glanced at her mother for only a moment before she hung her head again. “Every time I get the hiccups something goes wrong. Something to do with the wedding.” She looked up. “I know it sounds silly, but I just don’t want to talk about anything to do with the wedding.”
Her mother just stared at her for a moment. “You don’t really believe that, do you? Silly superstitions, that’s all.”
“I guess not.” She silently prayed that if she was lying, God would forgive her.
Mamm jumped up and clapped her hands together. “Well, my news was not bad news, but it can wait until tomorrow. And tomorrow, young lady, you and I are going to take a little trip to town.”
“For what?”
“You’ll see. The public library opens at ten o’clock. So plan to leave here around nine.”
Priscilla stood up. “Why are we going to the library?”
“Because I suspect I know what is causing your hiccups, and I want to see if I’m right. And it might help you.”
Friday morning Mamm parked the buggy in front of the Pequea Valley Library in Intercourse. After she tied the horse to the hitching post, they walked briskly to the building, their heads tucked to avoid the nip in the air. On the way to the library, Priscilla’s mother had given her the wedding updates she’d tried to give her the night before—mostly about the food and the cake Naomi was planning to make, very close to the one her aunt would have baked.
“We’re looking for a book about hiccups,” Mamm said to a library clerk when they entered the large room filled with rows and rows of bookshelves.
“Okay . . .” The young woman, about Priscilla’s age, motioned with her hand for them to follow, but then stopped. “What exactly are you looking for?”
Mamm stood taller and repeated herself. “A book about hiccups.”
“Like how to get rid of them?” The woman’s mouth tipped up at one corner, and Priscilla was embarrassed. But Mamm was undeterred.
“No. What causes them.”
“Oh. Okay. Follow me to the computers. I’ll see what I can find.”
“Thank you.” Mamm smiled, and she and Priscilla followed the woman to a row of
computers on the far wall. After a few minutes, they were given the names of three books.
“That’s a general health book.” The librarian pointed to the second book on the list. “That’s probably the best one. I’ll show you where to find it.”
Once Mamm had the book in her hand, she thanked the woman and walked to a long table and sat down. Priscilla sat next to her and folded her arms. This was a waste of time.
“Mamm, everyone gets the hiccups. I don’t know why we’re doing this.”
Her mother didn’t look up as she flipped a page. “But not everyone believes that their hiccups are a warning of something bad to happen.” She glanced at Priscilla and narrowed her eyebrows. “I don’t think God would like that.”
Priscilla sighed. “I’m not trying to make God mad. It just seems like more than a coincidence that—”
“There are no coincidences in life, Priscilla.” Mamm glared at her for a moment. “Everything is His will. You know that.”
She knew her mother was right, and there was no point in arguing, so she sat quietly while her mother flipped through the pages. She glanced around the room at the few patrons whose heads were buried in a book. Occasionally, one of the Englisch would nod in her direction and whisper to someone, but overall folks in Lancaster County were used to seeing Plain People.
Mamm tapped her finger to one of the pages in the book. “Here you go. Read this.” She slid the hardcover book in front of Priscilla. She scanned the page, but followed her mother’s finger when she leaned over. “Right here. Read.”
Priscilla leaned her face closer to the page. The most common triggers for short-term hiccups are: eating too much, drinking carbonated beverages, excessive consumption of alcohol, sudden temperature change, worry or emotional stress.
Mamm started talking before Priscilla could process the information. “You eat like a bird, so that’s not it. You don’t drink sodas or alcohol, so rule that out. And there’s been no sudden change in temperature. So! There you have it.” Mamm slammed a pointed finger down on the page. “Stop worrying, and your hiccups will go away.” She stood up. “Ready to go home?”
