Ella's Wish (27 page)

“Good night,” he said, slapping the reins.

“Good night,” she said.

Mary’s form was dimly lit by the buggy’s lights as he swept by and down the incline to the end of the driveway. The buggy bounced at the bump and then settled down. Beside him, Mary sat close, holding the baby. Sarah sat on the other side of her sister. The two pulled the buggy blanket snuggly around them to stay warm in the cool night air.

How he wanted her to be with them. He wanted her sitting next to him and holding Sarah in her lap—and not left to walk back into the house alone. But how could it be otherwise? She belonged to someone else, and
Da Hah
was against him.

Thirty-four

T
he aloneness of the night wrapped itself around Ella as she walked slowly back to the basement. They were gone. The sound of Preacher Stutzman’s horse was faint in the distance. At least the girls loved their father. Their reaction to his arrival earlier spoke for itself. That was a sign that the man did have some soft spots in his life, even if he thundered in his Sunday sermons.

Perhaps the man needs to talk to someone more often than he does. I’ve been glad to listen. It’s odd, but I find that the way he says his words, with the obvious brokenness in his voice, soothes my own pain. Well, he doesn’t need to be figured out. There are enough problems in life already
.

Ella stopped and turned her face upward to the heavens. The full moon hung heavy; low down like a weight in the sky and seemingly upheld by the wispy clouds beneath.

Where is Aden tonight? In heaven, yes, but where is that? Does the Promised Land lay beyond the moon and stars? Is the only entrance death, and is it guarded by the angels? Death—so cold and dark—with the earth beneath her bare feet warm in comparison
.

Yet the angels, sent by
Da Hah,
had come to take Aden’s spirit home. Had
Da Hah
known that comfort was needed for those left behind when three deaths so quickly followed each other?
Ella dug her toes into the dirt, feeling more of the damp warmth beneath.
These things are too high for me and best left to the preachers to figure out. Someday, when it is time, heaven will come for me too. Perhaps it won’t happen till I am well into my old age, when I am broken in body and weary with years. Yet the angels will be there—if I obey God and am not ashamed of His name or His people
. Ella looked back toward the house and made her way down the steps to her basement.

This is my home now. It is such a
gut
one, given by the mercy of God. There is much to be thankful for
. She walked over to the couch and on impulse knelt and whispered the words that came to her.

“Thank You, dear Lord, for all You have given me. I don’t understand You or what You do. Just help me as You already have. Be with Preacher Stutzman’s little girls. Thank You that they have a father who loves them. It would seem too much to have their mother taken and no father around who cared.

“Thank You for Ronda and Joe, who have come to live with me. They already mean so much. Thank You for the quilt I’ve already sold, and I ask for the strength to work on it. Thanks for my mamm and daett, Dora and Clara, Eli and Monroe. You know the trouble Eli is in. You know he’s stubborn and thinks he knows what’s best. Would You forgive him and have mercy on him? He needs mercy like we all do. I, perhaps the most of them all. Amen.”

Ella got up and prepared to go upstairs to bed. With the girls gone, she would spend the weekend sleeping in her own upstairs bedroom. Knowing she would miss the girls, at least she would have her own bed to take comfort in.

Is there time yet to write tonight, to place my thoughts on paper? Surely there is
. Carefully Ella turned out the gas lantern and took the kerosene lamp with her. The basement steps creaked under her feet as she crept upward and onto the first floor. Down the hall, she could see that the living room light was still on, but there was no sign of either Joe or Ronda.

Ella continued up the stairs. The bedroom door opened under her hand without a sound. It’s newness was evident in the very feel of the wood and the ease with which the knob turned. The journal was still in its place in the cedar chest, covered by the protective dresses.

Ella set the kerosene lamp on the dresser. With her journal in hand, she walked over to the bed, sat down, flipped through the pages until a blank one came up, and then began at once to write the thoughts that came to her.

Preacher Stutzman just left. It was a good week…taking care of his girls. I didn’t quite know what to expect, but he does love his girls. Ronda and Joe are here now and fully moved in. That has been such a blessing. Now, if we could just find an answer to the problem of Eli. Yes, he is a problem in his own right. A big one, but how I do love him
.

I was just a little girl, too young to remember much, when Eli was born. Dora and I played together outside in the yard or in the barn in those days. He was just the little bundle Mamm would lay down on a blanket beside the wash line while she worked. That much I do remember
.

When I first learned to love him, I don’t know. Perhaps it happened the day he could run faster than me, chasing after our collie, Bessie, who had stolen my doll. Dora couldn’t keep up either with the naughty creature. The dog meant no harm, I’m sure. We left our dolls lying around the yard all the time while we played
.

That day the collie took off with mine, dragging the poor rag doll by its head. Horrified, I screamed at the sight of such abuse happening to my beloved treasure. Dora didn’t help things by yelling. I thought the doll would soon be all torn up with nothing much left to it. Bessie wouldn’t listen to any of our pleas to stop
.

It was Eli who caught her running out of the barn. How he could run! I can still see him. He wasn’t that big, but he looked like the best sight I’d seen all day. He told Bessie to stop in his little voice. He told her what a bad dog she was, and for some reason, it worked
.

Eli scolded Bessie some more—his hands tight around her neck—while I went to pick up my doll from the ground. Other than some tiny teeth marks, I couldn’t see what harm had been done. Somehow I knew Bessie would never do such a thing again, and during the next few years, while we played with dolls, she never did
.

On the day she died from old age and arthritis, Eli carried her body in the little wagon all the way down to the creek. I didn’t go along because Mamm had work for us to do. Dora didn’t want to go, but I would have. Eli said he buried her under the oak tree—the big one. I wasn’t sure, but I think he meant the one within sight of the water
.

I remember how glad I was when he was old enough to accompany us girls to the youth gatherings and singings. That was the year before Aden came into my life. When I first noticed Aden and saw him smile, I thought my heart would jump right out of my skin. I couldn’t imagine how I would ever say no to anything he asked of me. Yet, I would have tried if he hadn’t been as nice as Eli
.

Eli is stubborn, and yet his heart is so soft underneath. I wonder if it’s always so. I guess it isn’t because Aden wasn’t stubborn, just strong, and he was even nicer than Eli. How then could my brother have gone so wrong—to think he can date an Englisha girl? I still can’t believe it
.

I wonder if the bishop knows how much he has won over our hearts because of his spiritual concern for Eli. I guess everyone wanted me to marry the bishop the first time he came around. Well, his genuine interest in Eli has played a big part in my decision
.

How will we live with ourselves if Eli actually marries an Englisha girl? It will be like a part of our own body has been ripped from us. The preachers say Da Hah gives grace for all trials, and I guess He gave me grace to bear Aden’s death. I don’t know how else I’d still continue on with life
.

It certainly can’t be for love. I don’t think there’s enough grace in heaven or earth for me to love a man again. Oh, I suppose the calm, settled kind who some speak of could come later
.

Bishop will make that kind of husband. I can respect him. He’ll marry me—even if my heart doesn’t throb at the sight of his face. He will likely tell me that is how it should be and that his love is enough for any girl. I suppose he’s right because he is right on most things
.

I will be known as the bishop’s wife and have no cause for regret, I guess. But my heart will never forget Aden. I will always remember—even when I am old and crippled with age—what it was like to have loved a man with all my heart. I think the bishop knows that. He’ll say his wife’s obedience to him is sufficient and will not care about the rest
.

In some way, I think he should care, but I’m not sure why
.

Ella thought for a moment but found no more to write. She carefully closed the journal and slid the tablet back under the dresses.

Slowly she walked over to the window. The night sky was now inky black and the moon still hung in the sky. The view was much better up here and made her feel like one riding above the earth.
Why can’t I sleep up here every night? Nee, it isn’t possible with the girls. It’s better that I stay in the basement. Any small sacrifice for their comfort is well worth the effort
.

She changed, blew out the kerosene lamp, and climbed under the covers. Sleep came easily enough, and the dream just as easy. Before her eyes the dream unfolded. She saw the familiar barnyard, the house, the couples seated in front, and her own face across from the bishop’s. With a gasp, she woke. The moon was bright in the window, and the hour was somewhere close to morning.
Why did I dream that same dream again, and why are my hands sweating and gripping the edge of the sheets so fearfully?

Thirty-five

E
lla stood by the bed. The light that streamed through the window framed her figure.
How did I oversleep by so long? It must be past seven already
. Quickly she dressed, stopping for a moment when she heard the sounds Ronda made in the kitchen downstairs.
Ronda is up, but does that mean I have to be? This is Saturday, and the girls are at home with Preacher Stutzman. Why can’t I sleep as long as I wish? There is no one around but Joe and Ronda, and they won’t hold it against me
.

Still, it can’t be right. Daett would never approve of his girls sleeping in. There is no acceptable excuse—not even the hours I lost after that dream
.

Why did the dream return? It seems senseless, so without merit, and a thing of the darkness that came uninvited
. It troubled her greatly.
Perhaps, as foolish as my fears are, it might be best to share the matter with someone. The young bishop is a
gut
man
.

Ella opened the bedroom door, which caused the noise from downstairs to sound louder. She could tell that Joe and Ronda had finished their breakfast.
Maybe this is the very answer I am looking for. Ronda is a true friend—and married. That carries a lot of weight, even if she is younger
.

Opening the stair door, Ella peeked into the living room. There was no sign of Joe, but Ronda was washing dishes at the sink. Ella walked across the hardwood floor in her house slippers.

“Good morning,” she whispered, but Ronda still jumped.

“I thought I heard somethin’,” Ronda said with a laugh. “I’m not used to being alone in a big house yet.”

“I thought I’d see how you’re doing. Is Joe gone?” Ella asked. Glancing toward the plates on the table, she walked over and gathered them up for Ronda.

“Yah,” Ronda said, “he has to work on Saturday—at least through the summer, especially since we lost a few days for the wedding. And we do need the income.”

“Mind if I sit down?” Ella said. “I overslept badly as you can see.”

“Please sit. I hope I didn’t wake you. I had to start the bread dough early. This is my first time as a married woman.”

“It’ll turn out fine,” Ella said as she sat down.

“I sure hope so,” Ronda replied.

Silence settled on the room.
Should I say anything about the dream? It might be better to wait until after I eat breakfast
. “I’d better get breakfast before I faint,” Ella said, getting up.

“I have oatmeal left. I made too much for the two of us. You’re welcome to have some.”

“Thanks,” Ella said. “That’s nice of you.”

Ronda moved toward the stove. “See? I kept the oatmeal warm just in case. What for, I wasn’t sure. But I couldn’t bring myself to throw it away. I even imagined myself eating oatmeal for lunch.”

Ella put a dab of oatmeal in her bowl and poured in the milk. She added a small spoonful of sugar and slowly stirred the mixture. Ronda watched her with a curious look on her face.

“What?” Ella asked, noticing Ronda’s expression.

“I’ve been wanting to ask you if it’s true you’re seein’ the bishop—the young Bishop Miller.”

“Yah,” Ella said, “I suppose it’s true.”

“What’s love like the second time around? I can’t imagine losin’ Joe and loving someone new.”