A Promise for Miriam (5 page)

Looking into his daughter’s expectant eyes now, it seemed as though Gabe could feel his wife’s hand on his arm and hear her voice in his ear.

He drew in a deep breath and focused on what needed to be said.

“You know we’re going to church this morning?”

Gracie nodded.

“And you remember the way church services are done from our time in Indiana?”

This time Gracie smiled and held up the Bible she carried. It had been a parting gift from his mother.

“
Ya
, that’s
gut
, but what I mean to say is that you’ll be sitting with the women and children, and I’ll be sitting with the men.” When concern wiped the smile off her face, he hurried on. “Today’s service is at Mr. King’s place. He is your teacher’s
dat
, so maybe you’ll be able to sit with her or with some of her family.”

Gracie stood completely still now, almost as if she were playing frozen angels out in the snow, except Gabe couldn’t remember a time he’d actually seen her playing outdoors with other
kinner.
He pushed the thought aside and concentrated on preparing her for the morning.

“The bishop will introduce us. When he does, I want you to come down and stand with me. I’ve asked him…” Gabe stared out the window, out at the farm that was to hold such promise. “I’ve asked him to tell no more than he feels he has to about…about your
mamm
, but I didn’t want you to be surprised when you heard him speak her name. I know it’s not something we mention often.” This last part he added in almost a whisper.

Quiet enveloped them.

He thought for a moment Gracie might speak—a hope that was always in his heart—but she didn’t. They stood there, watching each other, mirroring each other’s loss. Gabe slowly became aware of the soft crackling of the fire he’d banked inside the iron stove, a light breeze stirring a branch against the roof of the house, one of the horses neighing in the barn.

Gracie surprised him when she set her Bible on the floor, placed both of her hands against his cheeks and pressed her forehead against his. They remained that way for another moment, until they both seemed to sense that it was time to go.

She combed her fingers through his beard once, the way she often had as a small child, and then she retrieved her Bible and walked ahead of him out into the bright winter morning.

Gabe wished with all that was within him that he knew what was going on within the child’s mind.

As he drove the buggy toward the Kings’ home, his mind went back over his conversation with Miriam on Friday evening. Was he wrong? Would it be better to take the child to an
Englisch
doctor? But his heart told him there was nothing physically wrong with Gracie. And as for the emotional things—well, they were both wounded, and wounds took time to heal.

Pulling into the lane that led up to the Kings’ house, he resolved to hold his stance against the schoolteacher. No doubt she meant well, but he’d spent the last three years suffering through the attentions of people who meant well, both Amish and
Englisch.
He and Grace had come to Wisconsin to escape that, and he wasn’t going to let one snippet of a girl, even if she was a teacher, stir up that particular nightmare all over again.

Chapter 4

G
race listened to the words of the
Loblied
, the second hymn of praise sung in every church service she’d ever attended. Though the service was conducted entirely in German, she had no trouble following along. Her
grossmammis
had taught her well in the old language.

All of that had been before she’d attended her old school.

Before she’d learned to stand against the looks of other children—the looks and harsh words.

Before her family had decided to teach her at home. Years before they had moved to this new place, with its colder winter and different ways. Here in Wisconsin, even the sounds were different in her ears.

But the words to the hymn—the old language—she recognized and knew.

Hearing them was like being wrapped in one of her
grossmammi
’s familiar worn quilts. Not the new ones packed and waiting in a chest for the next wedding. No, Grace preferred the old ones, with the occasional stain or worn spot. When she was covered with them, she was surrounded by the smells of people she loved—people who loved her.

That’s what the words of the
Loblied
meant to her, and though she knew her dad would rather have stayed home and worked in the sad old barn, she preferred being here.

The voices around her rose in a chorus of sound, and it seemed to Grace as if she were singing with them.

She didn’t.

At moments like this, she had to make sure she pushed her teeth together, lest some noise escape that would embarrass her father. The last thing she wanted to do on this day was cause him more hurt. She’d seen by the way he spoke to her that the morning would be difficult enough.

For her part, Grace liked new things and new people. She even liked the sad barn and the droopy house.

She had looked forward to church since they had arrived in Pebble Creek eleven days ago.

But this morning there had been no time to draw a picture and tell him that, so she’d done the next best thing—she’d put her hands on his face and tried to tell him with her eyes.

He’d seemed to understand, for he’d smiled at her and his eyes had grown crinkly the way they did when the crops grew tall or the rain came down in proper amounts.

As the song ended and they sat on the long wooden benches brought into the house for the service, Miriam’s mother smiled at her. Grace liked sitting near Abigail. That was the name she was supposed to say—though of course there was no way for her to say it. Abigail smelled nice, like pies and soap and quilts all at the same time. Grace wondered what it would be like to crawl onto her lap, but she didn’t wonder about it for long. Best to push such thoughts away or they would come back to keep her awake late at night.

Instead, she stared at the tops of her black shoes and thought of her mouse, whom she’d named Stanley. Miriam was reading them a story at school, and it had a boy named Stanley in it. That Stanley was always getting into trouble, but Grace’s mouse seemed to behave well, other than the time he escaped from his box and ran into the kitchen. Her dad had nearly stepped on Stanley then.

He’d hopped and hollered and Stanley had run for his life.

Grace smiled at the memory.

Stanley wasn’t quite as nice as Pepper. Grace had spent a few moments with the dog when she’d first arrived. Her father had looked at her and shook his head no. She didn’t need a voice to tell him what was in her heart—he’d known! A dog would be an amazing thing to own, even if you had to go to the barn to see it. For now, though, she would be happy with Stanley in his box.

At that very moment Abigail looked down at her. She patted Grace on the knee and smiled.

Grace could tell that her teacher hadn’t told Abigail about how her voice had gone missing. That’s the way she always thought of it—as if it had disappeared like the tabby cat they had in Indiana. Muffin just walked out into the fields one evening. He didn’t even say goodbye. Grace would sit out on the stoop and watch for him until dark, but her dad said that old cat wasn’t coming back until he was ready—that it might be days or years.

She figured her voice was the same way. It wasn’t coming back until it was ready.

One time she had tried to force it back, to make a sound come out. She had been frustrated with her dad that day because he didn’t understand what she was trying to tell him. She’d become cross and tried to make him see. What they’d argued about wasn’t even important.

It was just about clothes she didn’t want to wear because they didn’t fit anymore. He had wanted her to hurry and dress, but when she’d tried to find something to write on and tell him why she couldn’t, he’d only hollered–and he never hollered. So she’d tried to holler back. What came out sounded like the old squeaky hinge on the barn, only worse and louder.

She still remembered the look on his face. He’d seemed more afraid at that moment than he had when her mother had died.

Grace could remember that day too. The day the angels took her
mamm
with them.

It was the same day her voice walked away.

Abigail reached over and squeezed her hand. “Bishop Beiler wants you to join your
dat
,” she whispered. “Do you want me to walk with you?”

Grace shook her head, hopped off her bench, and started toward the front of the room. Then she remembered her Bible. Turning around, she hurried back for it. The Bible was the last thing her
grossmammi
Sarah had given her. She’d told her to take good care of it.

She retrieved it from her seat and then rushed to the front of the room.

The Kings’ home had looked far less crowded from her bench. Once she stood beside her father with her hand in his, it seemed as if there were a thousand people staring at them. Grace was good at math, and she knew there weren’t actually a thousand people, but there were maybe a hundred.

Her heart started to hammer in her chest like the wings of a baby bird. She looked up at her dad and the bishop, who both seemed unusually tall all of a sudden.

“I beseech you to pray for both Gabriel and Grace as they find their place within our community,” Bishop Beiler said. His voice was very serious, and when she glanced at him he didn’t smile the way their old bishop did. His words were nice, though, and she could tell he meant them. You could tell when people meant what they said and when they didn’t if you listened close enough.

“It’s difficult to experience loss in this life, but God doesn’t leave us alone. He brought the Millers to us for a reason. I know you all will be family to Grace and Gabe—a mother to Grace and friends to them both. For we are one community and one family,
bruders
and
schweschders
in the faith.”

Grace couldn’t see Bishop Beiler’s face well. She could see he had a gray beard. She thought the words he said were just right. When she closed her eyes, they washed over her like starlight.

Since her voice had gone, she’d learned to tell a lot from people’s voices. Bishop Beiler’s voice was very serious. Some kids thought that was bad, but it wasn’t always. Bad was someone whose voice said one thing when their face said another. Bishop Beiler’s voice was solemn—that was a word they had learned in school, but it matched his face. She could see his face now that he’d moved over a few feet. His face and voice matched up, so he was all right with her.

Now everyone was singing again.

Grace stood there, wondering what it would be like to sing with them. She sang in her head, but it wasn’t the same.

Then the service ended and people were coming forward, shaking hands with her father. Some patted her on the head and others shook her hand as if she were an adult. She could always tell if someone knew about her voice or not by the way they looked at her.

A few people spoke to her and waited for a response, but generally adults preferred quiet children.

Some kids made fun of her when adults weren’t near, but if she ignored them they went away.

Soon she was being hugged by Miriam’s mother, who pulled her away from the front of the room and toward the tables where the food was being served.

As she stood in line for lunch, two boys began to rib each other and giggle, pointing at her and speaking behind their hands.

“She’s mute,” the taller boy said.

“No, she’s not. She’s stupid.”

“Bet she’s not either. Bet she’ll squeal if we poke her with a fork.”

She pretended not to notice and moved forward in the line. She hoped the boys wouldn’t poke her. She was fairly sure she wouldn’t squeal. She’d cut her hand once on a rusty nail when she was playing in the barn back in Indiana. The
Englisch
doctor had been surprised and said, “Not even one peep. You definitely deserve a sticker or a lollipop.”

She ignored the boys and tried to think about Stanley.

As she reached the table with the plates, Hannah stepped in between her and the boys. “Hello, Grace. I was hoping you’d sit with me today.”

Grace smiled up at her new friend and the boys settled down.

Maybe the bishop was right. Maybe it would all work out, the way things did in a family.

Chapter 5

S
ensing that he might try to cut out early, Miriam kept her eye on Gabe Miller. Which wasn’t easy to do because she was refilling dishes in the food line—as the plate of sliced ham emptied, she’d whisk it off and replace it with another. When the basket of fresh bread was down to the last slice, she put another in its place at the same moment Eli Stutzman put his hand forward for a piece.

“Nice timing, Miriam.”

“
Danki
, Eli.”

“How are the
kinner
doing? I never have much time to speak with you when we’re at school.”