Leaving Lancaster (10 page)

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

Apparently my mother thought I looked goofy in my borrowed Amish attire. But I was grateful for the dry, comfy clothes, and that Nathaniel hadn't doubled over with amusement when he first saw me in them. If anything, he looked pleased.

Gathering my muddy belongings together in his kitchen earlier, I'd asked if he owned a washing machine.

“I do, but I don't use it. A neighbor helps me out.”

A neighbor or a single beauty looking for a husband? I'd wondered and said, “I think I met her. Lizzie? She was carrying a basket filled with baked goodies, but when she saw me she skedaddled and said she'd stop by later. I hope I didn't scare her away.”

Not true. I wanted her long gone, replaced by a homely married woman my mother's age.

“I don't remember being so happy.” Mommy Anna said, bringing me to the present. She smiled at me, her face radiating love, but I noticed tension at the corners of her eyes. She looked tired.

“What can I fix yous to eat?” she said. “
Kumm
, everyone.” In slow motion, she turned to climb the porch steps.

I followed her. Peace and tranquility surrounded me. I thought about Nathaniel's daughters—Hannah and Tina—both wearing and then outgrowing this dress and apron. Again, I wondered about his former wife. How did she die? I was nosy enough to ask him, or maybe not. Mommy Anna would be a better source of information. Or Beth. I needed to zip over to her house for my laptop and to recharge my cell phone. I'd immediately liked her last night because she knew and loved Mommy Anna, and had taken my mom and me in, a couple of waifs without a hotel reservation.

My dear Mommy Anna trod up the staircase.
Labor
was a better word to describe the effort each step seemed to require. She paused halfway and grasped the railing.

Her knees buckled. She toppled backward.

I darted forward, knowing I was powerless to do more than cushion her fall. I felt Nathaniel's arms scooping us up like we were a couple of baby chicks. Once I stood on the porch, he glided past me and slid an arm around Mommy Anna's stout waist.

My mother dashed up the steps and stabilized Mommy Anna's other elbow. She and Nathaniel ushered her to the nearest chair, where she came down hard. Her hand moved to her forehead.

“I get dizzy sometimes,” she muttered. I could tell she was using all her energy to keep from slumping over.

“You call that dizzy?” My mother's forceful voice cut through the air. “
Was fehlt dir denn?
You wrote saying you're sick but you've been a bundle of activity ever since we arrived, so I assumed you were fine.”

Mommy Anna untied the strings of her prayer cap; they fell limply like scraps of mom's yarn. “Yah, well, I'm light-headed every now and then. And my bones in my arms and legs ache.”

“Why hide it?” Mom's hand steadied my grandma's shoulder.

“I wrote ya, didn't I? My sons and their wives know, but they don't understand. They're busy workin', all their energy focused on moving.”

“We could take you to a doctor right now,” I said. “I have a rental car. I bet Nathaniel would help us.”

“No, he's got his chores and milking ta do. And Holly, dear, I've already seen several medical doctors. They say my problem's old age.”

“You're not that old,” Mom said. “Two of the women in my friend Dori's knitting group are in their late eighties. One is ninety-four.”

“Like I told you before, you should try my naturopath or a chiropractor,” Nathaniel said, scratching his chin. “They always help me out gut.” So he knew Mommy Anna was sick, too, but hadn't mentioned her condition.

“I'm fine now.” Mommy Anna drew in a chest-full of air, then let it out like a collapsed balloon. “I got overly excited seeing Holly dressed so
wunderbaar.
Like I dreamed she'd look.”

I figured she was putting us off, trying to spare us worry the way my mother did when she was in a bind. “What exactly is wrong with you?” I asked her.

Mommy Anna shook her head. “No one but the good Lord knows.”

“Was this a trick to lure me home?” my mother asked, with what sounded like scorn. I felt like raising my skirt's hem and kicking her in the shins.

“'Tis true, Esther. More than anything, I wanted to see you before we moved and you came home and found someone else livin' here. You'd never find me.”

“But you have my address and our telephone number, if you'd ever use a phone,” Mom said. “You could have let me know where you were. None of this rings true.”

“I regret nothin'. I have you and my Holly here, at last.” Mommy Anna took my hand. Her fingertips were icy cold.

“'Tis a blessing I got to meet Holly.” She held my hand tighter. “Even if I don't have much time left on earth.”

I got a panicky feeling in the back of my throat. She was going to die? But I'd only just met her!

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

Thirty minutes later, Esther heard a motor vehicle stop in back of the house. From the kitchen window, she saw four Amish women and a gaggle of preschoolers file out of a twelve-passenger van.

Three of the women looked to be in their early or midforties and one was nearing fifty. They each carried either a toddler, a grocery bag, or both. They were conversing in Deitsch, sounding jovial and carefree. Everything Esther wasn't. She wanted to dodge out the front door, but there was no way she could pretend she didn't see them.

With Mamm resting in bed upstairs—Nathaniel had literally carried her—Esther had agreed to help entertain her brothers' wives during their visit. The Amish enjoyed gathering to chitchat. She bet over the years she'd been the topic of many a storytelling during work frolics.

Earlier, Mamm said, “Offer them cookies and lemonade,” as Nathaniel lowered her to her bed. Was she truly ill? Mamm seemed to have Nathaniel hoodwinked. But then maybe he knew more than he was letting on.

Esther had been impressed by his gentle strength and show of respect for Mamm. Every so often, his gaze landed on Esther's face to take in her features. Unless she was mistaken, he seemed somewhat in awe of her. More likely, he was astounded how much she'd aged since their childhood days.

While peering in a mirror earlier, Esther had reminded herself of Beth's shriveled rosebush. Beth still appeared vibrant and in the prime of life, even though she was just a few years younger. Should Esther start wearing makeup and get a chic new haircut to accentuate her high cheekbones as Holly had urged? “Life is not over in your fifties, Mom,” she'd said.

How would Holly know?

In Seattle, Esther had convinced herself she enjoyed living unnoticed by the opposite sex. Holly was irascible some days, but Esther was content sharing the house with another woman: no pressure to keep up her appearance. She didn't need or want men ogling her. But here, her world felt like a pineapple upside-down cake, flipped over before thoroughly baked.

Esther heard Greta and her children upstairs, and Holly running water in the bathroom.

She watched the women and children head for the back stoop, led by a tall, angular brunette. They were chattering in Deitsch. She hoped they'd switch to English for Holly's sake. For her own, as well. Esther didn't want to back-slip into her childhood dialect. Esther and Holly were not Amish, in spite of Holly's ridiculous endeavors at looking like one. Why hadn't she changed into her other pants and a sweater? The moment Holly opened her mouth the women would know she wasn't from these parts. Did people in Seattle speak with an accent? Esther wondered, then tossed the random thought aside. Her mind was twirling with inconsistencies and questions.

Hearing footsteps enter the utility room, Esther squared her shoulders. If she could deal with customers at the Amish Shoppe, she could converse with her brothers' wives, whom she'd probably never see again after today.

She placed her sweaty palm on the doorknob. Forcing a show of bravado, she swung open the door. “Hello, everyone. I'm Esther Fisher, Anna's daughter.”

The laughter fell silent. Apparently no one had warned them of Esther's arrival. A strawberry-blond toddler carried by a woman with the same color hair stared at Esther; the little boy's face puckered like he might burst into tears.

Did Esther appear frightening? To him, she might.

“Please come in,” Esther said. “Looks like you've been busy.”

The oldest and tallest of the women, a brunette hauling a shopping bag, stared down her beakish nose. “We were buyin' fabric and stockin' up on groceries.”

Esther wondered which brother she'd married; probably lanky Marvin, two years older than Isaac. Yet in this family, Isaac was the preacher. The youngest son held seniority and made the final decisions.

“Here's my daughter, Holly,” Esther said when Holly entered the kitchen barefoot, wearing the dress and apron.

“Hey, you guys cruised up in a van.” She sidled next to Esther. “I thought Mommy Anna's friends were horse and buggy only.”

“We may hire cars when needed, but not own or drive them,” the woman carrying the toddler said. Her reddish-blonde hair peeked out from beneath her Kapp, and Esther guessed it curled like her son's.

“Yah,” said a blonde woman wearing a plum-colored dress and black apron who shared Holly's petite stature. “We brought food for Anna, too.”

“Thank you,” Esther said. “I'm sure Mamm appreciates your kindness.”

“The driver will be back for us in an hour, then we'll pick up our school-age children,” the last woman announced. Her brown hair above a high forehead was parted down the middle with precision, making Esther recall the hours she'd spent brushing and parting her own hair as a girl.

“And grandchildren,” the tall brunette cut in. “I have nine children and seven grandchildren. The older boys are either in school or helping their fathers on the farm this very minute.”

“You sure have a big family.” Holly raked a hand through her hair; a speck of dirt the size of a pea fell to the floor.

“Holly!” Esther scooped up the dried mud and hid it in her closed fist. “Show your aunts respect.”

“Sorry, I didn't mean to be rude. I've always wanted aunts—the more the merrier.”

The women went quiet again. They stared at Holly's wavy loose hair, then at Esther.

“I'm Mary Ann,” the tall brunette said, her voice stern. “This here's Francine, Martha, and Julie.” Each woman donned a meager smile, their lips compressed. Esther couldn't tell if they were shy or in shock.

“Happy to meet you.” Esther found her legs quaking. Knowing her palms were moist from nervous perspiration, she didn't offer to shake hands. And she needed to throw the wad of dirt away.

“Nice ta meetcha,” the women said in unison, reminding Esther of her childhood. As a girl, she'd been taught not to draw attention to herself.

“Let's go into the front room,” Esther said. “Greta left us a plate of cookies and lemonade. Mamm's upstairs.”

Mary Ann set down the grocery bag and followed her. “So, you're Esther,” she said. “Where've you been hidin' yourself? Indiana? Ohio?”

Esther figured Mamm had informed Mary Ann where she lived, but her sister-in-law was going to rub it in.

“Seattle,” Holly said. “In the Pacific Northwest.”

“Ach, so far away.” Mary Ann screwed up her mouth like she was gnawing on a lemon wedge.

“Are there any of our People livin' there?” Sandy-haired Francine settled her wiggly child on a rag rug.

“No Amish settlements in the state of Washington that I know of,” Esther said. The toddler crawled over to unlace her Naturalizer shoes.

“There can't be many Amish in Montana, either,” Holly said, cocking her head.

“Yah, a few,” Francine said. “We're hopin', anyways.”

Esther wondered if these women wanted to leave Lancaster County any more than her mamm did, but wouldn't ask. She didn't wish to put them in the spotlight of disagreeing with their husbands. Or Isaac.

Holly poured lemonade into glasses. “In the city of Seattle, the only thing Amish is Mom's retail store, the Amish Shoppe.” Esther squinted her eyes, trying to send her daughter a keep-quiet message, but Holly didn't seem to notice. She said, “We even have a gray buggy sitting on the front porch—like the ones around here.”

Francine covered her mouth and giggled. “Yous own a store named the Amish Shoppe? And a buggy?”

Martha also set her toddler on the floor; golden-blonde strands escaped from her prayer cap as she leaned forward. “What kind of horse do ya keep?” She broke a cookie in half and gave it to her little boy.

“Horses aren't allowed in the city, except those owned by the police department,” Holly said, and handed a cookie to Francine's child.

“Are ya joking' with us?” Mary Ann's glower spread crevices across her face. “I bet you're pullin' our legs.”

“No.” Holly held the cookie platter out to Mary Ann. “I mean, yes,” she said quickly. “Mom does own the Amish Shoppe and sells Amish products, but we don't have a horse.”

Paying no heed to the cookies, Mary Ann narrowed her eyes like she didn't believe a word Holly said. She bulleted her words at Esther. “After all this time, what brought ya home? Other than seeing your poor Mudder,
what ya should a done decades ago.”

She's bent on embarrassing me, Esther thought, her cheeks radiating with heat; they must be cranberry red. Should she mention her mother's illness? Did her sisters-in-law know Mamm lived in pain and was faint headed? It was her mother's responsibility to inform her family, if she really were ill. Esther still wasn't convinced. One minute she was bursting with vigor, the next collapsing; maybe Mamm was faking for Esther's benefit.

As Esther sipped lemonade, she reminded herself she'd seen Mamm crumple down the stairs an hour ago. If Nathaniel hadn't come to the rescue, both her mother and Holly would have fallen like Mamm's oval serving bowl. Feeling a sliver of shame impale her, Esther was struck by the fact that Mary Ann was perfectly right. If Esther had returned earlier, she could have taken Mamm to specialists.

“I hear both of you are single,” Mary Ann said, then finally selected a gingersnap cookie and chomped into it.

“Here to find a husband?” Julie asked, with a wry smile. She was either rotund or carrying child. Her loose clothing made it difficult to tell, not such a bad style in Esther's opinion.

Holly shook her head. “Heavens, no.”

“This is the best place on earth to find a beau,” Greta said, descending the stairs carrying baby Lydia, two of her youngsters at her heels.

Martha swallowed a mouthful of lemonade. “Have you met Nathaniel next door? He'd make a fine-gut husband for either of you.”

If Esther wasn't mistaken, Holly looked uncomfortable, the way she shifted her weight back and forth. Or was her borrowed Amish clothing pricking her at the waist? Had something happened between her and Nathaniel? It shouldn't bother Esther, but the thought of them together made her bristly inside. Pangs of jealousy? she had to ask herself.

Esther noticed movement in her peripheral vision and saw her mother descending the staircase one step at a time, her hand on the banister.

“Talking about husbands?” she said. Reaching the first floor, Mamm lowered herself onto the couch next to Greta and her baby. “First a woman must be baptized. No Amishman will marry a woman outside the church.”

“A man can't switch churches?” Holly asked, making Esther wish she'd educated her better about the Amish ways. She'd been a miserable mother to her daughter.

“Nee,” Martha said, with a look of dismay. “A man and woman must be equally yoked and marry within the Amish church.”

Francine said, “Now, if a girl were Englisch, Beth's son Zachary would be fair game. There isn't a more eligible Englisch bachelor in the county. His veterinary medicine is a blessing to every animal owner. He even donates his services to the poor.”

“Yah, yah, he's very kind and committed,” Mamm said. “But not Amish, Holly, so keep your distance.” She lifted Lydia from Greta's arms and reswaddled the baby. Cuddling Lydia, Mamm directed her words to Holly. “A young Amish woman once tried to convince Zachary to convert, without success. 'Tis almost impossible to become Amish in midlife. Very few do. He was fond of that girl but wouldn't give up his modern technology. Plus, he isn't fluent in German, and that's necessary for reading the Bible and understanding sermons.”

“His mother, Beth, sure is nice,” Holly said, making Esther wince. It seemed Beth could do no wrong. “But I notice she doesn't dress or live like you.”

“The Flemings are devout Christians, I can attest to that,” Greta said. “But their Mennonite church is worldly as far as dress and lifestyle go.”

“They have telephones and electricity right in the house,” Julie said.

“And drive cars and tractors in the fields,” Martha said. “Against the Ordnung, for sure.”

“Don't you go chasing after Zachary, Holly,” Mary Ann said, her hands planted on her ample hips.

“I bet a lot of women do,” Holly said. “Having Beth for a mother-in-law wouldn't be so bad. But I have no intention of chasing after her son.”

“Gut,” Greta said. “You should marry Amish.”

“Yah, our blood flows through your veins,” Mamm said.

Esther wanted to stop the women from pestering Holly, but held her tongue.

“Holly, both your parents were Amish,” Greta said. “My Isaac says he wants you to move in with us. I could use your help raising Lydia. You want to hold her?”

“Okay. Sure.” Holly inched over to Mamm and lifted the baby, supporting her tiny head. “Am I doing this right?”

“Yah, perfect,” Greta said. “She likes bein' walked and rocked. Yes, just like that.”

Esther was blanketed with sadness; she could deceive herself no longer. Holly ached for a child of her own. Of course she would. Esther should have encouraged her daughter to find a husband in Seattle.

Mamm's face beamed. “You're part of our family, Holly.”

“That dress was made for you.” Julie nodded. “It couldn't suit you more.”

“Can ya speak and read German?” Mary Ann demanded.

“I studied it in high school and college. But it's been a while.”

“I bet you'll pick it right up again in no time,” Greta said, clapping her hands.

“Anna can teach ya Deitsch,” Francine said.

“Sure, a few new words a day,” Julie said.

“
Mei Kinner
—my children—can help,” Greta said.

Much to Esther's consternation, each woman in the room gave Holly her unasked-for biased opinion.

“Hold your horses, everyone,” Esther said, her voice sounding frayed. “Holly has a marvelous life in Seattle.” An exaggeration, since Holly seemed to be blossoming here before her eyes.