Heritage of Lancaster County 03 The Reckoning (11 page)

It was cold in the room, yet she shivered with joy, remembering the obnoxious way her muscles had tensed up on the ride back from the bank with Bishop John last Saturday afternoon, already one week ago. Seemed like just

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yesterday, and she held her breath in anticipation of the People coming for preaching tomorrow. More than that, she hoped to hear for certain that the bishop was actually going over to Schaefferstown, to attend the funeral of an old preacher friend. She'd overheard such talk at the General Store two days ago when young Levi Beiler, while chatting with Preacher Yoder, had said that his father was off to a funeral come Monday.

Her ears perked up right good as she crouched down behind a row of sacked sugar, eavesdropping on Levi and the preacher.

"I s'pose your pop'll be needin' someone to watch over you younguns while he's gone," said Preacher Yoder.

Levi nodded absentmindedly, reaching over to lift the glass lid off the peppermint sticks. "Daed's got someone in mind for us, all right."

Mary's heart leaped up at the boy's words. Who was the bishop thinking of asking? Did John have her in mind to stay with his brood?

She turned from the window and scurried across the floor, removing the quilt she'd wrapped herself in and placing it on top of the pile of quilts that draped over the single bed. Then, because the floor was ice-cold, she slipped under the sheets to say her prayers. The Good Lord would surely understand. This night, this moonbeam-filled night, she would pray under the warmth of her mamma's and Mammi Ruth's quilts, thanking the Lord God heavenly Father for His watchcare over her life. And... over John's.

Around midnigtat, Mary was still lying awake, wide-eyed in the scant light of a fading moon. She had devised various ways lately to occupy her mind when she suffered from insomnia. One way was to think of the days when she and Katie were little girls. Her favorite memory, among many, was the summer night they'd sneaked away from a picnic at the Lapps' place. Making sure no one noticed, she and Katie

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had run down the mule road that led to the cornfield, past the clearing, and toward the deep, wide pond with its cloistered island.

Under a fingernail of a moon, they'd rowed out on the slow water in the old boat, whispering and giggling to each other. When they reached the middle, Katie decided they wouldn't row all the way to the island but should stop and just drift along, lying back, staring up at hundreds of light points in the silvery sky.

Neither of them spoke for a time, then Katie sneezed, and the sound echoed across the water like ripples. Mary got the giggles all over again. And they sat up and faced each other, best friends, listening to the peaceful night sounds of talk and laughter carrying across the water, coming from the Lapps' farmhouse nearly a half mile away.

"Wish someday we could marry each other's brothers so we'd be sisters," Katie said softly.

"It don't matter really. We're already closer than that, jah?"

"Sisters in our hearts," Katie whispered, her eyes shining back at Mary.

"Right ya be," she agreed.

Mary closed her eyes, thinking of her dear sister-friend, and when she did, tears squeezed through her eyelids onto

the old feather pillow.

Right ya be ....

Quickly, she thought of another way to fall asleep. She would say her Amish rote prayers over and over--several times in German, three times in English. If that didn't make her tired enough, she'd think of everything that had happened to her from the day she could actually remember things, which, she supposed, was around age four or so till the present time.

Try as she might, it seemed the years got all jumbled up in the routine of Amish life ... over and again the same

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things. Getting up, making breakfast, choring inside and out, putting up quarts of food, helping other women can their harvested produce, sewing, mending, cleaning, baking, cooking, going to church every other Sunday, visiting, and going to bed. Not till Katie ditched Bishop John and got herself shunned had Mary ever noticed any departure from the rituals of her life. Not that there needed to be anything much more interesting than daily living, not really. But it was a noticeable thing--Katie leaving the bishop behind on their wedding day like she did. If nothing else, the sad yet surprising tale gave the women something to wag their tongues about. But it gave Mary much more than that. In her grief for Katie, she'd found hope.

$o right then and there, in the darkness of her silent room, she decided she must not tell the bishop or anyone else about the letter from Rosie Taylor, who lived somewhere up in New York.

Sometimes Samuel Lapp would read out loud to Rebecca on a Sunday evening when the house was quiet and they'd all had their share of seconds at dessert. She especially liked hearing him read from the many columns in Die Botschafi, a weekly newspaper for Old Order Amish and Mennonite communities.

"Listen here to this," her husband said with a chortle. "This 'un comes from Kutztown ... seems there was an awful big commotion over at Luke Hoover's pigsty the other night. Sounded like one of his pigs was in serious trouble, a-howlin' and complainin' over in the hog house. And then if Clarence Leid's fussy old rooster didn't start a- crowin' and offerin' his sympathy to the noisy pig. 'Course the duet didn't last too much longer as the rooster seemed to out-howl the sow. And that was that."

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Rebecca sat quietly rocking while her husband had to put down the paper and remove his glasses. He was laughing so hard his eyes were moist, but she tried not to gawk. Part of her had listened, taking in his words as he read the true anecdote. And she'd heard enough to offer a slight smile at the amusing story, nodding occasionally when he glanced over at her as he read.

Yet her heart seemed like a big chunk of ice, hard and cold. And the more she wished it would melt and leave her soft the way she used to be, the harder it felt.

When he'd composed himself, Samuel glanced over in her direction. "Now, what do ya think of that?"

"Well..." She pushed a little smile onto her face. "If you're tryin' to get me to laugh, ach, there's just not much that strikes me funny these days." She could've gone on to say what the reason was, but she figured he ought to know by now.

Samuel nodded, picked up the paper, and read to himself all the rest of the evening. She didn't blame him for it, not one little bit. The man had had his own share of sorrow over their daughter's rebellion and ultimate shunning. When she'd upped and left town, Rebecca knew he had suffered terribly, but here lately she just assumed he was handling his loss pretty well, in a manner of speaking. There were the upsetting occasions when he'd raise his voice to her or their sons, getting angry over hardly anything at all, far as she could tell. The look on Eli's and Benjamin's faces would tell her that they, too, knew something was still bothering Samuel awful much. Probably as much as it bothered all of them.

She leaned her head back on the rocking chair and sighed. And far off in the distance she heard a hoot owl calling for its mate from the trees beyond the creek.

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Her new grandbaby, Daniel Fisher--named for his uncle Daniel, who everyone thought was dead but had turned up alive--was howling like that sow her husband had read about the night before when Rebecca Lapp entered the kitchen door of her oldest son's house bright and early Monday morning.

Annie, her daughter-in-law, greeted her, waving her into the kitchen. "Baby's got the colic, I daresay." Reaching into the cradle, Annie lifted the bundle up into her arms.

Rebecca took off her wraps as the little one continued to wail. "Has a tummyache, all right." She went over and rubbed his tiny back in circular motions. "This'll sometimes help relieve the gas. Try that." And she stepped back, letting Annie take over the gentle patting.

Meanwhile, she went into the front room, where two large quilting frames were set up and ready for the womenfolk who would be arriving later, after breakfast. "Mary Stoltzfus won't be comin' over today," she said, going back to the kitchen.

"Jah, I heard. Seems she's been asked to stay all day with John Beiler's children." Annie's face blossomed into a big smile. "Suppose the bishop's taken a liking to her?"

Rebecca sat down at the long table, a frown appearing as she sighed audibly. "Your guess is as good as mine, but you know the sayin' same as I do: 'One who wastes time wastes life itself.' Wouldn't expect John to want to remain a widower much longer."

Annie shook her head, still rubbing the baby's back.

"He's not gettin' any younger."

"No, none of us are that."

Daniel stopped crying and made sweet little sucking sounds. "Guess now he might be gettin' hungry," said Annie, preparing to nurse the baby.

I'll do your dishes for ya." And Rebecca went to the sink and drew the rinse water.

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"Denki, Mam." Annie sighed. "It's mighty hard keeping everything clean around here with a little one . . . and another one already on the way."

"You ain't tellin' me anything I don't know already." Rebecca clearly remembered what it was like having three children right in a row--all of them clamoring for attention while the housework and chores piled up. But not for one minute had she regretted birthing three fine sons and, later, embracing the infant Katie as her own. No, given the chance, she'd do it all again. Only one thing would be different if she could change things. She would have destroyed the satin infant gown that had stirred up such commotion with Katie, leading her away from the People--up to that English woman in New York. As much as she'd loved the perty rose-colored dress, she knew, for sure and for certain, the fancy little thing was the reason why her secret--her and Samuel's--ended up having to be told. Now the baby gown was gone, tricked out of her own hands by Ella Mae Zook. No wonder folks called her the Wise Woman. She wasn't just wise, she was shrewd. And more than ever, Rebecca suspected her of being in cahoots with Katie. Why else had she entertained the shunned Daniel Fisher in her Dawdi Haus several weeks ago? Why else had she told him where to go and look for Katie?

Once the womenfolk started coming for the quilting frolic, the tormenting questions subsided, and she set to sewing her straight, tiny stitches on a brand-new quilt to be given to one of Annie's cousins as a birthday gift. For the first time in a long, long time, she came ever so close to volunteering a story. I'll try to tell one today," she said hesitantly. "It may not happen. I just don't know yet .... "

Annie and the others burst into applause, grinning and cheering her on like nobody's business. She felt her cheeks flush with embarrassment, but when she opened her mouth to recite the opening lines of an old favorite, she knew she

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*

wasn't quite ready. Someday she would spin her tales again, 'cause this was a gut and right thing. Something she'd yearned for--honest-to-goodness missed--but just couldn't bring herself to do. Not just yet.

Mary met the bishop's four older children at the back door as they came in from school. Jacob, the youngest, held her hand as they stood there, propping the storm door open. "How was school today?" she asked as they filed in, one by one.

Nancy and Hickory John launched into a long description of what they'd studied. But the minute Susie stepped into the utility room, she started bawling her eyes out.

"What'sa matter?" Mary asked, brushing stray hairs from the girl's forehead.

Susie hitched up her skirt tail and pointed to her skinned knee. "Oooow. I hurt.., myself.., awful bad.'' she wailed.

Mary knelt on the floor, eye level with the six-year-old. "Let's see how awful bad it is."

"I... I failed down and skinned my knee." Susie leaned down and showed her the wound, crying all the while.

A quick look and Mary saw that a scab had begun to form already.

"It hurts!" Susie fussed some more.

Levi rolled his eyes and pursed his lips, as though he knew something about the injury but wasn't saying. He pulled his boots off and lined them up next to Hickory John's.

It was Nancy who offered the telling explanation about her sister's accident. "She fell outside during recess this morning. And she never told the teacher about it... so now she's cryin'."

Mary gathered the tiny girl in her arms. "Aw, you held

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in the pain all this time? Well, come on in and have some hot chocolate. That'll help better'n anything."

Nodding, her lower lip protruding, Susie took Mary's hand and went without further complaint to the table, scooted onto the bench, and waited with glistening eyes for her cocoa.

Several hours later, with Nancy offering to help, Mary set a fine table and served up a delicious batch of chicken and dumplings.

"You should come on over more often," Nancy said,

grinning at her across the table. "Daed likes gut cookin' 2 "Sure does!" little Jacob said. "And me too!"

Susie, her knee scrape forgotten, nodded her head up and down. "We need a mamma . . . real bad."

Mary grinned, growing more attached to the Beiler children with each minute that passed.

Hickory John spoke up. "When's Daed due back?" "Sometime tonight," she told him.

Nancy smiled and ducked her head. "Best save some dumplin's for him," she said softly into her plate.

"Gut idea," Levi agreed, though he never once looked up at Mary.

Sitting there with the children scattered around the table, their hands busy with dinner, their faces bright with hope, she knew for sure and for certain that this home was where she belonged--what her heart was longing for.

Sighing, she decided yet anew that she would not answer the warm and honest letter from the stranger named Rosie, who'd written her in Katie's stead. There was only one way she would ever consider doing such a thing. Bishop John would have to remove the ban on talking to Katie of his own accord, without any mention of it from Mary.

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The search for Laura's journal continued all week long. Even after Katherine tired of rummaging through the two large attics, Selig and Garrett continued, with Fulton's and Rosie's help.