Leaving Lancaster (20 page)

“I might just do that, but I love it here.” For fear of disappointing her, I didn't reveal how far Seattle lay from Montana—the Cascades, Eastern Washington, Idaho, and the Rocky Mountains would separate us. “I'd rather visit you in Lancaster County.”

Mom craned her neck to get a better view out the window. Of Nathaniel? If I didn't know better, I'd swear she had a crush on him that couldn't be reciprocal. Not only was she a couple years his senior, she owned a house and a business in Seattle. And she was my mother!

I toddled up behind her and saw Isaac remove a map and photos from the envelope. Isaac opened the map and showed it to Zach. I was itching to ask Mommy Anna if Nathaniel had made an offer on her property, but maybe she didn't know of the sales transaction.

Nathaniel's face turned our way, his gaze catching Mom's. No doubt about it, a disturbing current of tension ran between the two of them. Had Nathaniel already told Mom details of my family's move to Montana and left me out of the loop?

My family. I liked the sound of those two words. Should I go with them? At least help through the first winter?

As Mom and I stared out the window at the men, Mommy Anna added a slab of butter to Mom's fry pan, sending up a burst of sizzling smoke.

“That's way too much,” Mom said.

Mommy Anna added another hunk. Then she moved to the refrigerator and brought out four brown eggs, broke and whisked them into a bowl, and set the swirled mixture on the counter next to the stove.

“Is that for me?” Mom frowned. “I said I wanted one fried egg.”

“One egg won't tide you over until the noon meal. Unless Beatrice fed ya.”

“Only coffee,” I said. “And it wasn't half as good as yours.”

“Denki,” Mommy Anna said. “Better eat yourself full. There's plenty to be done this morning.”

“I'll be glad to help later,” Mom said. “First, I'd like to visit the cemetery to see Dat's grave. And Samuel's, too, if I can figure a way.”

“Ya know, Samuel's body was never found,” Mommy Anna said.

Grief, followed by anger, seemed to transform Mom's face into an old woman's. “Don't you think I know that fact better than anyone?” She switched off the burner. “But the Fishers said they had erected something. And I want to see it!”

I was struck by the enormity of Mom's sorrow. She still loved my father. She couldn't possibly be interested in Nathaniel. But why turn her anger on my grandma?

“So do I,” I said. “Even though Dad's in heaven now.” I sat and swallowed a mouthful of the best apple pie I'd ever tasted.

“My Levi was committed to God and followed the Ordnung,” Mommy Anna said. “I look forward to seein' him again. Now, I don't know about Samuel.”

“He's in heaven!” Mom stamped her foot like a girl. “I suppose you think I'm not going to heaven either, because I'm not baptized Amish. You should listen to your Mennonite neighbors more.”

“Like Beth?” Mommy Anna tilted her head.

My mother grimaced, then gawked out the window again. I couldn't shake a creepy feeling she was more than fond of Nathaniel. I bet she hadn't seen Lizzie, his cute housekeeper.

“You think my dad's marker is on the Fisher property?” I asked Mommy Anna.

“Most likely.”

“How about Nathaniel's wife?” Mom said. “Is she buried close by?”

Mommy Anna sucked in her lower lip. “As far as I know she ain't buried nowhere. She disappeared some fifteen years ago.”

“She ran away from home?” I asked.

Her hand wobbling, Mommy Anna topped off my coffee. “I can't imagine she would, what with Kinner
ta look after and a fine husband like Nathaniel. Anyways, she'd made a lifetime commitment to the church. Divorce is strictly
verboten
—forbidden.” Mommy Anna returned the coffee urn, but kept hold of the handle. “No one knows. She was visitin' cousins in Tuscarawas County in Ohio. She left no farewell note.”

“Could she have been struck by a car?” I said, still shaken by my irresponsible driving. “A hit-and-run accident?” I set my fork on my plate. “Could someone have kidnapped her?”

“She was stayin' with family. 'Tis highly unlikely anyone intentionally harmed her. Although ya might have heard of past violence toward the Amish.”

“Yes, I read about the murders of the children in a schoolhouse.” I'd been astonished the Amish community had readily extended their forgiveness. But the topic was too grisly to contemplate over apple pie. “Still, it makes you wonder. Nathaniel's wife was never located?”

“Not in all these many years. Nathaniel didn't ask for police assistance, but they swarmed both counties and sent bulletins 'cross the state, and found no hide nor hair of her.” She slumped onto the bench at the table, her arms forward. “It must have been God's will. It's generally thought she committed suicide by drowning. Her sweater and shoes were found on the banks of the Tuscarawas River. She was a shy woman and known to suffer from depression.”

“That's why Nathaniel never remarried?” I said.

“Not yet, anyways.”

“Nathaniel's poor daughters, growing up without a parent.” I felt a familiar yearning—an emptiness gaping as wide and deep as the Grand Canyon, yet to be filled.

Mommy Anna reached around Mom to turn the stove top back on. “Nathaniel went near insane lookin' for her. But I believe through God's mercy he and his daughters finally found peace.”

I half-stood and glanced out the kitchen window. “Those men look anything but peaceful.” I could tell by the rigid set of Isaac's shoulders as he refolded the map.

“Wonder what they're talking about,” Mom muttered.

When I sat for another bite of pie, I saw Mommy Anna bringing additional eggs from the refrigerator. “Good morning, Holly,” she said. “Yous two got up late. What can I fix ya?”

CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

Esther's exhaustion ran bone deep. She watched Mamm remove another half dozen eggs from the refrigerator and set them in a bowl. Now what? Mamm was planning to scramble more eggs? She'd forgotten the day of the week, the month, and now she was confused about this morning's events.

Leaving the bowl on the counter by the sink, Mamm opened the window a few inches, enough for Esther to better hear the men's garbled voices outside. Nathaniel spoke Esther's name. They were talking about her? What on earth?

“Our Isaac needs me in the barn,” Mamm said. “'Tis time for milkin'.”

“No, Mamm.” Esther felt heat radiating from the fry pan atop the stove. “He did that hours ago.” She turned the burner off again.

“We saw the herd in the pasture when we got home,” Holly said, then shoveled in more pie. Where were her table manners?

“I s'pose you're right.” Through the window, Mamm glanced up at the midmorning sky—a canopy of clouds parting to expose a swath of azure blue. “But they might have forgotten Spicy.”

Esther recalled the mostly white Holstein the family had owned when Esther was in her teens. “Didn't Spicy die of old age by now? She must have. Unless you named another cow in her honor.”

Mamm squinted. “I guess our Spicy did pass away, now that you mention it. I forget things.”

Was Mamm dwindling like water-deprived peas on a vine? How could Esther have been so blind? She could no longer deny her mother's mental and physical faculties were declining. Signs of Alzheimer's? Did the disease run in the family? Later, Esther would have to come to terms with her pride and venture with Holly to Beth's house to read over her daughter's shoulder on the computer, hunting for clues and an expert physician. Ask if others had suffered from the same symptoms.

Esther heard Isaac say, “You had no right—” Then he rotated to the barn and his words blurred together. Inundated with curiosity, Esther inclined her ear to the window but couldn't make out the end of his sentence.

“That ain't a good enough reason,” Nathaniel said a moment later.

“You getting enough to eat?” Mamm asked Esther over her shoulder. “You should put more meat on those bones. Might be cold in Montana.”

“I won't be there.” Turning to evaluate her mother's facial expression, Esther scalded the side of her hand on the pan. “Ow!” She felt like lashing out in frustration, but steeled her face from showing her pain, as she always did. She turned off the stove again.

“Are you sure you should go to Montana?” Holly asked Mamm. “When I was eight, our friends Dori and Jim drove me to Glacier National Park.” She licked her fork clean. “It was beautiful, but would you be happy living there?”

“Sure. And you'll come with us too, Holly Berry. We'll finally be a whole family.”

Mamm had designated Holly a nickname? When Esther had called her Holly Berry in the past, her daughter insisted she never repeat it. But Holly's face brimmed with happiness—until Mamm knocked Esther's coffee cup off the counter with the back of her hand, splattering brown fluid across the floor.

“I'll get it.” Esther rushed over with a sponge to mop up the spill. She wondered if Mamm's transformation from health to infirmity had taken decades, like a battery draining of its juice. She couldn't have known, having only read the letters, Mamm's efficient cursive handwriting masking illness—especially since Esther wasn't looking for clues. No, Esther was stretching the truth: Mamm had complained of aches and pains, what Esther thought were conniving ploys to lure her here.

Well, she should have come!

Esther's handwriting had always been sloppy in comparison, always hurried. When she thought about it, she was akin to Isaac's hogs—slovenly. The worst daughter in the world. And maybe Esther was losing her mental faculties too.

Holly leaped up to help dry the floor with a towel. “With your dizziness, I agree with Mom. I can't see you traveling across the country to set up house, even with your sons and daughters-in-law and all their children to help you.”

“It would be better if you and your Mudder
were there,” Mamm said.

Esther tossed the sponge in the sink. “Mamm, are ya sure you want to leave your church district and friends? Leave this house where your relations have lived for over one hundred years?”

“Better than splitting up my family.”

“The way I did,” Esther said. “And no good came of it.”

Mamm rummaged around for a fork and finally located one in the drawer where the cutlery had always been stored. “Truly, ya did, Esther. You ripped this family in half.” She handed Esther the fork and a napkin. “But no need fussing now that we're all back together.”

Questions cavorted through Esther's mind like pirouetting swallows. “Is Nathaniel really buying the farm?”

“Yah. When he caught wind of our leaving, Nathaniel made a generous offer to purchase our property.”

“He's buying this house? Everything?” Holly said.

“Yah. 'Tis all decided.”

“Why didn't you mention it in a letter?” Esther said.

“Then you never would have come to visit. Ain't so?”

“I would have,” Holly said. “Years ago. No matter where you were.”

They were ganging up on Esther like a couple of vultures. Esther rinsed her coffee cup, refilled it, and gulped too quickly, the liquid hitting the back of her throat. She coughed.

“The men don't look like they're gettin' along,” Mamm said, standing at the window again.

Esther cleared her voice. “There may be much you don't understand about Nathaniel,” she said, and Holly shot her a quizzical look.

“And you do?”

Esther's thoughts somersaulted back to last night. Nathaniel hadn't hinted his wife committed suicide, a tragedy that now bothered Esther greatly. When her Samuel didn't return from Vietnam, Esther had considered ending her life. If it weren't for her baby Holly, she might have jumped off Seattle's Aurora Bridge—without sending a farewell note to Mamm. Ach, Esther had been self-centered and knew she still was. She couldn't blame her actions on her mother's controlling attitude anymore.

“You want me to stick around until your family leaves for Montana?” Holly asked Mamm. “I could help them pack.”

“Yah, stay,” she said, “then come with us. Be the children's schoolteacher.”

“But I don't have a teaching license. I'm not certified.”

“No matter, if you've graduated from the eighth grade.”

Holly's face grew animated, her eyes alert. “I could really be a teacher? I'd love that.”

“Since when?” Esther hadn't seen her daughter so excited in years, but she assumed only Old Order Mennonite or Amish women could teach. And Esther wouldn't like having her only child living in Montana in a community without a home phone or Internet connection.

“While you were in college, I tried talking you into getting your teaching degree,” Esther said, her voice gritty, “but you'd have no part of it.”

“I was young. Hey, Mom, a girl can change her mind, can't she? You always told me the sky's the limit.”

“But teach in a one-room schoolhouse in the backwoods of Montana?”

“I could give it a try. I don't have money to spend, anyway. And if I dress Amish-style—”

“You'd wear a prayer cap
and give up driving a car?” Esther said, incredulous. She couldn't imagine Holly's intrigue would last once she found out teachers were single women. Or had Holly given up on finding a husband?

Through the window, Esther watched Nathaniel straighten his straw hat. Had a compromise been reached between him and Isaac? No shake of hands and Isaac's expression was as severe as ever. Her youngest brother had been a funny, outgoing boy when Esther ran off. Isaac's dour mood was probably Esther's fault. She owed him sympathy and an apology. But not today.

She supposed her brothers' plan to move had been set in motion six months ago. They'd probably contacted an Amish settlement in Montana that recommended acreage. Her brothers had inspected and found the land suitable.

Nathaniel glanced up at Esther. She tried to recede into the shadow, but he noticed her and tipped his hat. Should she wave or pay no attention? The longer she knew him, the less she could decipher her feelings.

“I'll be right back.” Holly wandered through the front room and out onto the porch. Esther heard Holly's words rising and falling, what must be a cell phone call.

“Come, have a seat, Essie,” Mamm said, and patted a chair. “You're sweet on Nathaniel, ain't ya?”

“I'm hungry is what I am.” Esther decided to cook Mamm's bowl of eggs, a maneuver to change the subject. And make her mother happy. She owed Mamm that much.

Moments later, Holly strolled back into the kitchen. “Mommy Anna, I'll be big as a horse by the time I leave, but how about another slice of pie?”

Seeing Mamm grinning at Holly filled Esther with a mixture of happiness and remorse. Why had she cloistered her daughter to herself? Why had she held on to Holly so tightly? Worse than Mamm and Dat ever did. Did Esther have such scarce confidence in her daughter that she feared she'd lose her? Holly must have hundreds of relatives in Lancaster County. Was Esther afraid she herself would revert to the Plain people and Holly would follow? What was so terrible about that scenario? Holly was single, without a love life, without family—except an inadequate mother.

In the Bible, the apostle Paul stated he was the worst of sinners. Esther was sure she'd surpassed him.

A petrifying scene unfolded in her mind. She imagined herself kneeling before the congregation next preaching Sunday, in a little bit more than a week, asking God and the community—the bishop, preachers, deacon, her mother—every member of the district, to forgive her. Would she finally feel absolved of her sins?

Her Seattle pastor—a trustworthy man—had assured her that the blood of Jesus paid her debt in full, but Esther felt as blameworthy as ever. When speaking privately with Esther, he'd encouraged her to visit her mother before Mamm passed away.

Maybe she should plunge into the abyss, move to Montana, and spend the rest of her days caring for Mamm and finally forge a relationship with her brothers, who were strangers to her. Then would she break through her prison bars?

“I'll get cleaned up,” Holly said, impeding Esther's flighty thoughts. “Zach's driving me to Beth's house so I can use my computer.”

“Did you make arrangements for another rental car?” Esther asked. She couldn't imagine her daughter without a set of wheels.

“Not yet. Maybe later.” Holly gave Mamm a hug. “Thank you for the scrumptious pie. Even better than Mom's. Not that she'd let me eat dessert for breakfast.”

Esther noticed her eggs were overcooked, and left them in the pan. “I need to use the phone shanty to call Dori and see how the shop's running without me.”

After she spoke to Nathaniel.

Esther waited for Holly to climb the stairs to the second floor, then she scooted out the kitchen door. She found a pair of men's work boots in the utility room and slid her feet into them. She wondered which of her brothers the boots belonged to and felt an aching in her heart to be reunited with them. Without photographs, she couldn't imagine what they looked like as adults.

Realistically, Esther couldn't take a prolonged vacation from the Amish Shoppe, especially not with Christmas approaching—the most hectic and profitable season. Although Dori had assured her she was enjoying every moment working at the store, Esther still wasn't sure she wanted a partner. Or had she grown weary of her independence?

She hastened outside without tying the bootlaces. The cool air urged her to move faster. Scanning the barnyard, she heard fragments of Isaac and Zach's conversation floating from the barn. What would become of the animals when Isaac settled out West? Maybe he would send his top breeders, and Nathaniel would buy the rest of Isaac and Mamm's livestock as part of the sale of the Gingerich farm. Still, Esther found the thought of Isaac's abandoning the only home he'd ever known and the animals that toiled for him without complaint infuriating. Did he no longer love Lancaster's rich limestone soil, what their dat had described as the most fertile on earth?

As she stooped to tie the laces, she reminded herself she'd abandoned the farm too. Worse: She'd deserted her family.

Exiting the barnyard, she intended to confront Nathaniel about his property deal. She cringed to think he was intentionally cheating her family, but why else would he ask her to marry him and fail to mention the land purchase?

She rounded the side of the house to the road and spotted Nathaniel striding home. In spite of her battling emotions and doubts, she admired his workingman's shoulders and his freely swinging arms. She tried to resist the feeling; he was like a magnet drawing her, a helpless scrap of steel.