Last Bride, The (Home to Hickory Hollow Book #5) (8 page)

Tessie stepped away from helping Mamma make supper to answer the knock at the back porch door. There stood Marcus’s golden-haired fourteen-year-old nephew, Enos, evidently one of the several young men—
leicht-
ah-sager—
going house to house to invite the relatives and friends of the deceased to the funeral. Haltingly, the freckle-faced lad stated, “Marcus King’s funeral will take place this Friday at Lloyd and Hannah King’s . . . at eight-thirty in the morning.”

“Denki” was all Tessie could manage to say at the sight of his youthful, tear-stained face.

“Viewing starts first thing Thursday mornin’,” added Enos before he turned to run down the driveway toward the road.

Overcome once more with the cruel reality of her loss, she suddenly felt anxious to run to his house and get Marcus’s journal. Had he written private words there for her eyes only? She longed to grasp everything—anything—related to him, needing to hold on to even the smallest shreds. Her life with dear Marcus was gone like wildflower blossoms in the wind.

She poked her head into the kitchen and told her mother, “I’ll be back in time to set the table.”

“Can’t it wait, Tessie?” asked Mamma, her expression worried.

“I’m sorry. I won’t be long.” She didn’t wait for her mother to comment further as she reached for her short black coat and hurried out the door.

When Tessie arrived at Marcus’s, she was relieved to see no one around. She rushed to the back door and let herself in, avoiding the inclination to look too closely at the trappings of this precious place, to memorize them.

But time was short, so she moved on to the bedroom where Marcus slept. There, she pulled open the top middle bureau drawer and felt all around, even in the back, as the letter had described. But she found nothing. Trying again, she could not locate the space Marcus had written about in his note.

Discouraged now, and wanting to retrieve his journal nearly more than anything on earth, Tessie made the mistake of turning to look about the room.
Our room . . .
our refuge.

Her strength sapped, she went to sit on the bed, her lip quivering.

Suddenly, there were voices at the back door—relatives must be coming, as was their way.
Puh, I’ve waited too long!

The last thing she wanted was to be discovered there, so she quickly slipped into the smaller adjoining room. She and Marcus had decided one evening that it would be the perfect little sewing room or nursery someday. There was a good-sized empty closet there, and Tessie opened the door and stepped inside.

She held her breath and left the door parted just enough to overhear what might be said, there in her hiding place.
But the sounds she heard were mournful—his parents’ soft murmurings, snippets of conversation here and there. Too distressed, no doubt, to speak in full sentences.

Soon, there were additional male voices, measured and low, and the thuds of the bed frame being dismantled and the movement of other furniture.

Tessie groaned inwardly and racked her brain—had she left any of her possessions in the occasionally shared room? The thought that they had wed before a justice of the peace seemed strange now, even impulsive, yet given Marcus’s death, she was glad they had done so. Besides, no one would ever have to know of their reckless decision now.

Including Mamma and Dat,
she thought as the many footsteps subsided and shifted to the back of the house. Quickly, she saw her opportunity and crept to Marcus’s bedroom, still praying not to be discovered. But the oak dresser was gone, along with the wooden cane chair and double bed.

Sighing, Tessie did not know what to do. The journal was out of reach, and for her to press the issue with Marcus’s parents would only serve to raise eyebrows. She didn’t dare do that.

Dejected and feeling terribly alone, Tessie crept to the front door and down the porch steps, then made her way swiftly through the yard, not looking back.

A
ch, Mandy, I wish you’d discussed this with me first,” her husband stated as they lingered at the supper table. “Why would ya go behind my back?”

“I
need
this shop,” she pleaded, looking away. “I really
do
.”

“But . . . to be deceitful, dear?”

“It was wrong, I know that.” She wanted to tell him how nervous she was around him at times. How she longed to feel comfortable talking with him.

Sylvan drew a deep sigh and rose to go and stand at the sink, his back to her. For the longest time he stood there, as if staring down at the faucet, then up at the wall clock. “If I’d known this was so important to you, I could’ve set up something real nice for ya right here, at home.”

She nodded reluctantly. “Guess I just wanted to surprise ya.”

Slowly, he turned and leaned against the counter. “There’s something else.” His face was painfully solemn. “I’d rather your sister Tessie didn’t come over here, cookin’ in your stead.
’Least not often.” He went to stand behind his chair at the head of the table. “Would ya honestly rather keep the store than keep house for your husband?”

She wouldn’t say. She just couldn’t.

“Is somethin’ troubling you, Mandy? Something you’re not telling me?”

Pausing, she chose her next words carefully, lest she upset him further. “What if Tessie worked at the gift shop part of the time—say, a day or two a week—in my place?” Her sister would surely need something now to occupy her mind.

“How often would
you
go to town?” The indignation had faded from his voice.

“I’ll have to talk to Tessie Ann . . . see what she says ’bout this.”

“It’d make better sense, really. Two single women over there, runnin’ things, ya know.”

“Maybe so.” Mandy paused and glanced toward the window. “Still, I’d like to keep workin’ there some . . . if ya don’t mind too awful much.”

“Well, jah, I do. But we’ll see how things go.” Sylvan unfolded his arms and gripped the back of his chair. “First, we’ve got a funeral to attend in a few days.”

“So hard to imagine someone that young . . . gone already,” Mandy whispered.

“An awful shame,” Sylvan said, head bowed. “Seems he was engaged, too. No doubt a promising future just ahead.”

“I can’t imagine how his family must feel tonight.”

“Dark hours, for certain.” Sylvan looked at her then and said more tenderly, “Each day is a gift from the Father’s hand, ya know.”

She agreed, wondering if she shouldn’t go over and check in on Tessie Ann yet again.

Mandy watched Sylvan take the horse and buggy to offer assistance at Lloyd King’s farm, in preparation for the viewing. Numerous other families would already be there, helping so that Marcus’s parents wouldn’t have to focus on chores like cooking and cleaning and caring for the farm animals.

She slipped on her coat and went to sit on the back porch, needing time alone in the fragrant night air. It was hard to shake off the memory of Tessie’s earlier reaction to the horrid accident. Yet she felt helpless to offer the kind of support her sister surely needed. Mandy wished Sylvan had left the discussion about the shop alone. Couldn’t that have waited for another day . . . or week, even?

Moonbeams fell on the backyard, spotlighting her plentiful mums of all colors on either side of the walkway. Oh, she was so glad the hard frost hadn’t come to nip them.
Not just yet.
How she dreaded the gray winter months.

Yawning, she raised her arms to stretch. And if she hadn’t looked up just then, she wouldn’t have noticed Tessie’s long legs dangling from the oak tree.

“Tessie Ann . . . sister?” Mandy rose to stand on the porch step, leaning to see better. “Why don’t ya come down and sit with me a spell?”

A muffled sob. Then Tessie’s sad, sad voice: “You weren’t s’posed to notice me up here.”

“Well, I did, and I do,” she said, knowing Tessie would
eventually emerge. It wasn’t clear to her what her sister did up there, but it really didn’t matter. Tonight especially she must feel utterly bewildered, realizing she’d never see her beau again on earth. “I’ll just sit an’ wait for ya . . . till you’re ready,” Mandy said softly and headed back to the chair on the porch.

How long has Tessie been climbing
that tree?
The old oak must feel like a home away from home, Mandy guessed, and she wondered if her mournful sister would open up about Marcus King.

She assumed that if the two of them had planned to marry come fall, her sister would have shared the news with Mamm. But then, on such a wretched day, that was neither here nor there.

Mandy decided it wasn’t sensible to ask Tessie about working at her new shop with Cousin Emmalyn. Not till after the funeral and maybe a few more days following. Surely Sylvan would understand, though he certainly had his opinions about most things, as did nearly all the men she’d ever known.

At that moment, Tessie came down out of the tree to sit on one of the porch chairs with an audible sigh. “I wasn’t ignoring ya,” she said, blowing her nose with her hankie. “I hope ya know.”

“You needed time,” Mandy said, reaching across to touch her shoulder.

“I honestly wish I could just get away for a while. Far away from here.” She sniffled. “I feel just awful.”

Mandy nodded and remembered how alone she’d felt right after Norm’s departure. “Do Dat and Mamma know you loved Marcus?”

“They know.”

“So they’ll be a
gut
comfort to you, then.”

Tessie fell silent.

“They will,” Mandy urged. “I’m sure of it.”

Still Tessie said nothing.

Mandy found this to be downright peculiar, but she let things be.

“I was thinkin’ of you and Sylvan just now . . . how you’ve made such a nice, happy home for him, even though you loved, well, someone else before you married.”

Mandy understood.

“It gives me hope, now that I’m alone without Marcus, ya know.”

Not responding, Mandy let the words float off. And the two of them sat side by side, immersed in the night sounds till Tessie said much later that she’d best be going on home. She got up from the chair with the effort of an older person and meandered down the few steps, nearly losing her balance on the final one, catching herself at the last moment.

“You all right?” Mandy rose, alarmed.

The poor thing just stood there, her head bowed low, like she was close to fainting. Then she glanced back at Mandy with her big, sorrowful eyes.

“I’ll come see ya tomorrow, all right?” Mandy held her breath, hoping Tessie might wave or say something. Anything at all.

“I’ve got a funeral dress to sew,” Tessie said so softly Mandy strained to hear. “A black one.”

Like a widow
’s,
thought Mandy. Something was terribly wrong with her sister, and it wasn’t just Marcus’s sudden passing, although that alone was enough to cause a girl to lose her equilibrium—and then some.

T
he late October sun shimmered on the tops of maple trees still boasting patches of orange as Tessie and her mother took the team over to the general store the next morning for a few baking ingredients—some of the items they didn’t grow or have stored in their cold cellar.

Tessie was lost in thought, pondering how to privately say good-bye to Marcus at the viewing tomorrow. Meanwhile, she had completely given up the idea of trying to locate his journal. Perhaps it was providential not to have found it, since their secret might somehow be discovered later.

On the way up the steps to the store, they encountered Levi Smucker and his mother, Sarah, coming out with a large box of groceries, which Levi was carrying on his shoulder. He smiled immediately when he saw Tessie, and Sarah Smucker exchanged a pleasant “hullo” with Mamma.

Levi managed to hold the door as he balanced the cumbersome box, letting his mother pass ahead of him. “This must
be a difficult time for you and your family,” he said quietly, his focus on Tessie. “We’ll keep yous in our prayers.”

“Denki,” she whispered, glancing at Levi’s mother.

Once Mamma and Tessie were inside the well-organized store, her mother said, “Such a thoughtful young man.”

Was Mamma really going to make a point of drawing attention to Levi now? Tessie made no response as she walked the aisles just in case there was something Mamma had forgotten to put on her list. The store offered everything from teakettles and cake pans to spring-clip wooden clothespins and Swiss cheese cut fresh from the block, but today Tessie could scarcely keep her mind on her surroundings, let alone shopping . . . not with the loss of Marcus still so new.

Tessie’s heart leaped up as a shock of thick blond hair appeared over on the other side of the aisle.
Marcus?
Everything stopped for a second, but it was not her darling, and she realized anew this was the terrible way things would always be. She had to find a way to live with this gaping hole in her life even if it meant doing so one minute at a time.

Mamma stopped in front of the olives, suddenly looking miserable. “Tessie Ann, I want you to know I’m awful sorry Marcus fell . . . and . . .” She paused, her gaze on her hands. “I feel so blue for Lloyd and Hannah King and their family.” There was a catch in her throat. “I honestly can’t imagine what they’re goin’ through. Or you, honey-girl.”

Tessie nodded, thankful for at least that much. She pondered what she ought to say next and what she truly
wanted
to say. Glancing about, she was relieved there was no one within earshot. “Mamma, I’ve been wanting to mention somethin’ to ya.”

Mamma’s head came up. “What is it, dear?”

“I stumbled upon some genetic listings for local families while I was dusting the old rolltop desk. In Dat’s handwriting,” Tessie ventured, lowering her voice further. “I wish he’d told me—or that you had. It was just so hard, not knowin’ why you were both so against us.”

“
Nee,
not against.” Mamma pushed her words out. “Not that a’tall. Your father had his reasons for keepin’ it mum.”

She waited, ready for more.

“He hoped you might obey without questioning.”

For once,
Tessie thought unhappily. It wasn’t the first time she had been known to push against her father’s wisdom. She’d struggled with surrender to her elders her whole life.
The yielded
spirit is the blessed spirit.

But when it came to something as important as giving birth to healthy children, Tessie honestly did not understand why her parents had kept her in the dark.

At least there was nothing to worry about now. There would be no babies.

“Black’s the best color for this funeral,” Tessie told her mother when it came up Thursday morning, after breakfast. She threaded the needle for hand stitching on her dress’s facing, finding it necessary to keep her hands, and mind, ever busy. The pain had been nearly insufferable upon awakening that morning—oh, the devastating realization all over again that Marcus was gone.

“My dear girl, you’re not thinkin’ straight,” Mamma insisted. “Ain’t customary for a girl to wear black to a beau’s funeral.”

“But my heart belongs to Marcus.”
And always will . . .
“So black’s the truest color for
me
,” Tessie stated bravely.

Mamma didn’t seem to know what to say to that, so she shook her head and kept busy with her own sewing, her thimble poised on her plump middle finger.

Tessie was tempted to declare the truth:
I’m Marcus King’s
wife!
But she reached instead for a hanger, hurrying to press her funeral dress, not wanting to mar the new fabric with her tears.

Tessie Ann waited till her parents had long since retired for the night to walk over to Lloyd King’s for the viewing. She planned to wait outdoors, near the side bushes, till there was no one inside tending the body, then slip inside.

A gray tabby cat lay asleep on the top step, reminding her of an early date she’d had with Marcus. He’d leaned down to pick up a tiny kitten and held it so gently it took Tessie’s breath away. Then he’d handed the adorable kitty to her.
Marcus was always like that. . . .

When all was quiet in the front room, Tessie crept inside toward the open casket. Standing there in loving reverence, she felt something of herself wither and die. Her youthful husband looked very much the same as he had in life, other than the gash on his temple. And his dear face was so terribly white as he lay without a speck of breath in him. “Good-bye, my love,” she whispered, tears coming quickly.

Even now, she could picture Marcus healthy and alive, listening to her with his head ducked forward, or his strong
hand clasping another man’s in a firm handshake as he walked toward the temporary house of worship on a Preaching Sunday morning. She remembered, too, the warmth of his lips on hers. Oh, goodness, how she would miss this wonderful man!

She reached out to touch his waxy-looking hand but drew hers back quickly, marveling at how very handsome he still looked in his black vest and frock coat. She couldn’t help recalling that he’d worn the selfsame suit to the courthouse, and she faltered for a second before placing her hand lightly over his heart to let it rest there, thankful no one was around to see.

Eventually, she pulled back, struggling to accept his unexpected death.
Too soon.
She tried not to cry again.

The real Marcus—her darling—was gone far from her, out of her loving reach. She hoped with everything in her that the dear heavenly Father would not count it against him, their marrying outside the church.
Marcus was
so sure we were following God’s will in all
that. . . .

Suddenly, Tessie heard the sound of quiet conversation in the kitchen, just around the corner, and her knees quaked, lest she be discovered. She turned to leave by way of the front door, disturbing the slumbering cat there. A pair of yellow-green eyes stared at her as the feline thumped its tail against the white banister.

Tessie Ann hurried down the steps and toward the narrow road where she and her sisters and their hardworking neighbor, Levi Smucker, had taken their ponies and carts years before she’d ever dated Marcus. So long ago now, it seemed, when life was far less complicated.

Sometimes we do what our
heart instructs us, and sometimes that’s the right thing
,
she thought, aware of the babbling of a small creek near the road.
But sometimes it’s not.

“I love you, Marcus King.” She flung the words to the stars, thankful for a bright moon on such a sorrowful night. “I’ll never forget you . . . or
us
.”

Perhaps it was her vulnerable mood—she didn’t know exactly—but Tessie felt almost certain that Marcus’s presence was right there with her on the long and lonely walk home.

The next day, a good many eyes widened and the ministers’ eyebrows lifted nearly to the edge of their straight bangs when Tessie arrived at the funeral with her parents in her all-black attire. The deacon’s teen granddaughters whispered to one another, and Marcus’s own mother looked askance at her. The somber Friday was a blur all around, the hardest hours of Tessie’s life.

And as the days plodded forward, Tessie continued to wear a black dress and apron, as did her mother, who by marriage was a distant cousin to the Kings. Tessie sewed two more black dresses so she wouldn’t have to wash them so often.

Her mother brought no more attention to her clothing, even though Dat continued to look at her suspiciously at nearly every meal, muttering such things as, “How long are ya gonna be in mournin’, daughter?” She wondered if he was afraid she might scare away potential suitors.

Tessie tried to ignore it and refrained from letting anyone see her tears, keeping them locked up until bedtime. In those
private hours, she let them fall freely as she talked tenderly to the Lord Jesus, her only solace.

The Friday after the funeral, Tessie agreed to help Mandy at the shop in Bird-in-Hand, something Mandy had recently requested of her. Tessie actually welcomed the opportunity to work with Cousin Emmalyn, impressed with her consistent compassion and care. Emmalyn never asked any uncomfortable questions, but Tessie sensed she was there if needed, ready to listen.

It was Ella Mae Zook who was the one to probe while browsing in the Amish gift shop. The petite woman gazed up at the clothesline Emmalyn had strung up from one corner to another to display colorful quilted potholders, like they did with Christmas cards each year. Ella Mae remarked how pretty everything looked, then she went straight to Tessie Ann, eyes shimmering. “Pity’s sake, dearie, your dress is as gloomy as your countenance. Might we do something ’bout that?” the elderly woman said. Her words may have sounded pointed, but her demeanor was sweet, a combination Tessie found heartening.

“Years ago, when my husband passed away, my house died, too,” said Ella Mae ever so quietly, fixed on Tessie’s gaze. “There was absolutely no life left in the place—too quiet, I’ll say. Even so, I went through the motions of keepin’ the place clean an’ redded up, but it was like lookin’ after a grave.”